Once again I have written this post and poem to help me understand myself and to help me see why I have great difficulty in accepting my Mother’s death. As this one progressed, first the poem, then the paragraph prior to the poem, next the paragraph just after the poem, on to the top animation and then the rest kept on coming. As I reread what I wrote, and I always have a lot of rereads, I noticed my words, openness and reactions to life were getting a little diifferent. I decided that I am not going to edit much because it is important for you to see the changes in my thoughts as I progressed. It became evident that I was beginning to discover many nuances about myself. The nuances do not jump out after you, but you will feel the change. Hopefully, if I continue to use this approach in my writing my thinking will become clearer and my thoughts will become more organized and my approach to life will be better.
An animation showing atmospheric corona around sun This animation shows the rising sun through thin clouds that cause diffraction rings to appear. The pink clouds caused the diffraction rings. Then the exposure was reduced and constant after. Notice, once the sun rises above the cloud layer, the ring magically transforms into dramatic spikes. The rings are atmospheric effects, while the spikes are due to optical effects within the camera.
My days now are managed by time more than they used to be……….Depending upon what is happening in any twenty four hours I am affected by my interpretation of metaphorical time, as well as, the many other forms of time, including the real down to earth time that we all are accustomed to experiencing. My relationship with time changed even more when I became a caregiver. Sometimes it is on my side, but all too often I know it slides through my hands, then mocks and toys with me as my life progresses within each day. Time is not always my friend………
Time rushes in like a gale of wind forcing me to stand at guard,
it leaps in boundless increments making my stance unsteady,
then without cause, turns to languish upon my battered mind and
provoking it to deteriorate even more on its own remorse.
I think how fortunate it is to be time, an entity of baseless emanations,
whose sole objective is to be consistent in its adeptness to abrade my soul.
The anguish prevails, whether time comes like greased lightning or
as an adagio movement, it still pierces my heart as tears stream down my cheeks.
I wonder who tells it how fast or slow to go?
Does it know, regardless of its speed, that it can wrench me beyond my control?
Does it know it shapes my feelings and emotions beyond repair?
No, I think this thing called time just doesn’t care.
This thing called time flies by and suddenly, with the blink of an eyelid,
everything changes or remains the same.
In the quietude of pensive thought I know when it has done its job.
Without looking, suddenly there is noise, where there was black now there is white.
All softness has become hard and the glimmer of light becomes dusk.
For the moment, I decide to look into time, rather than at it or looking for it.
I look without tears, fear, happiness or a smile,
for if I do I know my happiness will fade, the smile will stiffen
and quiver as reality strikes with blows of fear.
I look into time and all I can see for miles is my present day.
It teeters on a precarious precipice that allows me to go in only one direction.
Look into time for the answer to my quest, the thing I want the most,
yet when I look I find time stops me from ever letting me return to what was.
For as long as I remember I have lived in and for the events that have already happened. Let me lounge on the chaise in my bedroom on any day. I will close my eyes and let my mind wonder. Soon, dreams of some wonderful past event will form and I will step into that vision without any hesitation. Eventually, I return psychologically to the present day and rise to continue with what I be doing. I think about, as I begin the task at hand, how wonderful it would be to remain where I just came from because the memory was so vivid and it was one of those perfect days.
You may find my living for or within the past fairly strange for a person of my age. But when I think about doing this, then I realize how it has shaped my life and answers many questions concerning how I think and why I believe/ed tomorrow is less important than the past. I can understand now that I may live in the present day, but that I prefer the past because it is safer. The past is safe because all decisions have been made, I can be selective and frolic in whatever former day I wish and never need to face something that affects the rest of my life. I have rarely thought of the metaphorical tomorrow–the place that is the key to the rest of my life, the place where dreams are built and smiles abound. It is that place, though, that I have to acknowledge, particularly if I want a better tomorrow and then I need to do the work to acquire it
For the past year I have written not as many posts as I should about my crepusculum. It is sad to say, but often I bring up items that I should deal with now, rather than waiting. Not only should I have a plan for my older years, I should have it as organized and implemented as I can. Yet many of the points are left to dangle in my present day.
I write about my dear Mother and the terrible time I have accepting her death. I have been given some really good ideas on how to deal with all of this and until yesterday moving forward in my thought process never occurred. This strange, elusive thing called time, with its ability to change its length really doesn’t change. I am and you are the only one that can change the length of an increment of time. Please remember, I am talking about regular, old time that we know. We are the only ones that can describe and label time depending upon how it affects us. I am the culprit that places strange labels on time. It can’t strike out with blows of fear, but I can do that to myself. It can’t really teeter on a precarious precipice, but I can tell you that it does. I am the one that looks around and depending upon how I am dealing with life I can stop any forward movement in my life.
Yes, time may not be my friend, but it is beginning to open paths to ideas about my life in my mind.
Time became a factor of major importance for Claude Monet. In his desire to seize upon the exact moment of vision, Monet found himself at work on a dozen or more canvases of the same subject, each recording a particular moment in the day. The artificiality of such a procedure led him to reflect upon the nature of time; so that in his last works, the paintings of the now famous lilies floating on water, one seems to have gone beyond everyday reality into some strange world behind appearances, where cosmic, elemental forces are in play. These lily pond pictures slowly grew in size and took on unparalleled dimensions; composition as Monet understood it disappeared and all the forms dissolved in light.
From Claude Monet’s Water Lily Series