Ever felt like TIME had taken over your life? Like it had been snatched away in your sleep?
I realized a few years ago that I had allowed time to do that to me, just like the alien attack in the cult classic (1978, same year I was born) film Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Side note: Don’t even get me started on aliens. Not just the little bluish green ones either. Or the ones with the big black eyes and skinny little bodies–who are clearly in charge…while I do enjoy a good Sci-Fi alien movie from time to time, I DO NOT WANT TO DISCUSS ACTUAL aliens with you. Not now, not ever. EVER. AND NEVER THE MOVIE Communion (1989, Christopher Walken)…NEVER!!!!!!!!!!! Lets just get that straight people. Okay? Okay? Great!
Time put me on an alien auto-pilot program and my years just melted away. Looking back–it is mostly a blur to me now–only really remembering the days when joy entered into them or something was celebrated or when grief came in like a thief and manipulated my wonder of it all…but the rhythm sped up on me and I *somehow* turned 40. Overnight. Blech. It still doesn’t sound right when I say it.
Time is precious! Seize the day! There is no time like the present! We hear it ALL the time. Literally. Time reminds us of its existence constantly.
I hate thinking about time. I hate worrying about it, wishing it would speed up or slow down. I hate wearing a watch, I hate thinking about how much time is left or how much time has gone by. Time is the character in my play that I can’t remove or do anything about, just like the weather…everyone wants to complain about how awful it is, but we can’t do a damn thing about it.
Since we live in that dictatorship of time, I know that trying to change it is impossible. But to succumb to it? Submit to its power and let it have its way with me?
“Time is both generous and cruel to its mortal slaves.” –Rhythm of Time
I am a slave to it, I’m just not going to feed its ego with wasted moments anymore while it tries to suck the life out of me.
[pictured: me, snuggling/holding my youngest at the North Shore in Minnesota 4 days after my 40th birthday…while I loathe my birthday, some of my most favorite moments as an adult have been holding my children and snuggling them…I got to do a lot of that on this particular vacation. Sometimes, seizing the day for me looks like stillness….and snuggling…there is always time for snuggling.]
And if you haven’t seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers, I highly recommend doing so. Even the trailer (link below) is fun–everything looks so foggy and scary and mysterious (and hilariously serious at the threat of an alien invasion) all at the same time. Anything with Leonard Nimoy and Jeff Goldblum (I do realize this is the second time I’ve mentioned him on my blog) is a winner in my book.
[This is one of my clunkiest poems. I didn’t know where it was going till I got there and when I finally did, I was relieved it was over. Not that I didn’t like the poem, or writing it…just that it didn’t flow the way that I had hoped it would have or wanted it to. I don’t want to change it too much though, it is a direct reflection of the way I felt at the time and I will not be embarrassed by how clunky it all turned out.]
The Rhythm of Time
As she purges the pieces
Of forgiveness and shame
Cautionary and still.
To fill herself up again
She reminds herself
That the rhythm of time
Shall not cower behind
The inertia of her life.
Its constant breath of innocence
Shall not devour
The consequence of her sustenance.
The beastly nature of its wretchedness
Wasn’t that it scared her
Wasn’t that it frightened her
Wasn’t that it embarrassed her
That it divided her.
It laughed at her laughter.
It pushed away her pleasure.
It rummaged through her measure of time.
The viscosity of delightful memories
And scenes of idyllic dreams
Disconnected from themselves
Most likely piled up on shelves marked for winter storage.
–As if that hibernation could end their division—
But it didn’t.
And so she tried to reassure herself
That just because something lies dormant, doesn’t mean it’s dead.
Just as a passionate plea to her lover
Could withstand her thirst for another embrace
She faced her partition
With determination and brazen bravery.
Her affection for something more
Had become her obsession with something she couldn’t ask for:
A crime of character perhaps, to even ask,
She begged for the rhythm of time
To slow down and find someone else to bother.
Its mere nuisance controlled the translucence of her life as it slipped by.
Time is both generous and cruel to its mortal slaves, she thought.
One day’s unholy rest could follow another day’s blessing in jest.
But days so hardened and tough, that the roughness around their edges
Marked like wedges in crystalline diamonds
Buried the joyful mines of memories
She had hoped would overtake them someday.
She knew the confrontation and complication of urging
Their removal wasn’t going to be denied,
Nor was it pushed aside, to never be answered and forgotten.
No, it wasn’t forgotten.
She realized that while there were limits to the room she was given,
The subdivisions within her mind
Could be separated more accurately by defining their weight
In how much joy they brought her.
From days of passionate kisses, to whispering wishes of love
To the days of laziness lapped in the luxury sent from above
She’d be more mindful of it all now.
Remembering just how it felt to be trapped within the divisions of herself.
Wealth comes in waves of happiness and days of blissfulness, she thought
With the fullness and magnificence of enjoying the universe
AS IT IS.
The rhythm of time would not manipulate her mind into thinking she was
An anamoly of humankind
Yearning for something no one else wanted.
She was grounded in time’s consistency to never end.
The relentless motion of the inertia her life provided
Wouldn’t be divided anymore.
She’d rise up.
With admiration and compassion and courage and kindness and forgiveness and love–