Playing with time, as we do when we turn clocks forward in anticipation of Spring, helps me get back to examining the artificial nature of so much of my human existence. The reality that time is our adaptation to living on a whirling ball of water and rock, circling a star, causes me to grin with uneasy delight. I measure my life in seconds, days, years. Whether I measure it or not, it passes. Even when I think I am at rest, everything around me and in me is in motion. Moving and changing. I have no control over it. Practice is an attempt to live well with constant change through constancy of purpose and action.
Playing with time, as we do when we turn clocks forward in anticipation of Spring, helps me get back to examining the artificial nature of so much of my human existence. The reality that time is our adaptation to living on a whirling ball of water and rock, circling a star, causes me to grin with uneasy delight. I measure my life in seconds, days, years. Whether I measure it or not, it passes. Even when I think I am at rest, everything around me and in me is in motion. Moving and changing. I have no control over it. Practice is an attempt to live well with constant change through constancy of purpose and action.
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