You are timeless. Infinite. Eternal.


But you look in the mirror and there are lines that show the sign of the passing time. There’s a wrinkle in time. Many wrinkles, in fact. And that spacious conversation about eternality you had with yourself during meditation earlier this morning is erased. Fuck! You are definitely finite.


You make another cup of coffee so you can keep up with your to do list. You’re not even getting to your to do list. Just trying to keep up with the basics. Maybe you should put dishes on the list. And laundry. And cooking. Just so you can check off things. It might make you feel like you’ve accomplished something. There’s not enough time in the day to do everything you need to do in order to be who you wanna be.


You pick up some toys off the floor. You pick up the baby. Kiss. Sniff. Yum. Cuddle. You try to put him back down so you can get a few more things done. Nope. Little guy needs to be held. So you pick him back up. You gotta get ready and go pick up the five year old from school. And you pick up the dog from the groomers before you race across town so that you don’t miss pick up time. You need to pick up some kale at the farmers market on your way back. And remember to ask hubby to pick up organic almond butter on his way home from work tonight. And you think of all the pick up lines you will most likely never hear again. Maybe you can find a minute to pick up some of that new anti-aging cream too. It’s supposed to be amazing.


You make dinner. You feel rushed. You got nothing done today, and you didn’t even get to have any quality time with the kids. And then you look at them and you don’t understand how they can be so big already. Where did your babies go? Where does the time go?


Your husband takes you to see Paul Simon at the Hollywood Bowl. It is his farewell tour. And it hits you. He is in his late 70’s now. It hits you as hard as realizing that Pearl Jam’s Ten came out twenty years ago. And that was seven years ago. Fuck! Where is the time going?


You start seeing friends dealing with parents getting old. You’re in denial about it.


Your dad told you how he used to hear the Beatles’ “When I’m 64” and think 64 is SO old! Then all of a sudden he turned 64. And that was 4 years ago. You freak out about it a little bit. And you make yourself think of other things.


But time haunts you. And the thoughts about its intensely fast passing swirl around in your head.


You listen to The Fabric Of The Cosmos by Brian Greene on Audible, trying to have a scientific understanding of time. You end up with a headache. And more wrinkles, because your face squints trying to understand what the hell you’re hearing.


Time to go to sleep. Another day swiftly approached its final destination. You put your head on the pillow. And before you drift away into dreamland, you count your blessings, you declare your love for your life, and you take a few longer breaths… Slower breath. Deep inhale. Mindful exhale. Full inhale. Fully emptying exhale. And your racing mind slows down. And right before you fall into the arms of Mother Sleep, you glimpse into timelessness. And as tiredness cloaks the appearance of the world, you touch the velvety web of the infinite.


You are eternal.