Here; or Not

“There are signs everywhere,” he said. “Pay attention,” he said. “Is your head spinning, palms sweating,” he asked rhetorically. “Have you ever experienced a tragedy and it felt like the end of the world was coming,” rhetorical again. Of course he had. “And in that state, time seems to stop. People tell you things like time heals all wounds, but therein lies the problem, time has ceased. This is no consolation. In those times of great despair you don’t see, literally or figuratively, anything. You are soaked in the moment. Your mind goes chasing after every whim and leaves your body standing alone in the physical world. If your mind and body ever do converge, and you do notice what’s going on around you—say catch eye contact with a stranger in line buying noodles and whiskey—it’s certain the person looking at you can see the empty, gaping chasm your life has become. You’re vulnerability is without boundary. And there is freedom in these moments. It’s not apathy, it’s recognizing the inconsequentiality of your actions. The inevitability of everything burning comforts in these times and like a citizen of ancient Greece, you submit.

“Just like when you experience something great,” he continued. “Your head sings and your lungs fill up and you feel like you could fly,” he said. “Senses heighten and your mind connects everything with everything, tuned-in is a state-of-being. It’s understood in these moments you are not responsible for what’s happening, but a witness to it. Your compassion is limitless and you are open to every possibility. The mind, while soaring, remains in-tact with the body...it even feels as if the body is being carried away with the mind, yet you are grounded and moving in every moment. Laughter is easy and filled with none of the sinister irony you endure under tragic circumstances. But you are aware that this can be taken away at any moment, so you temper and check it, the same way you might pinch yourself to establish consciousness in a dream. In this state, time has its own governor, in the same way tragedy draws a noose over the speedometer, freedom preserves our clock too. Like a passive passenger in ship traveling at warp speed, without control over when you’ll drop out of warp, you soak up every moment while you are here—in this moment. And like a citizen of ancient Greece, you submit.

“Of course none of this is true. Time continues. Chronos winding and winding, unconcerned, yet aware of you hiding in the corner,” he said.