Time is a castle and we spend our lives going from room to room, exploring.
Or not exploring, really, as is sometimes the case.
Seasons are spent in the dining room, entertaining guests and thinking about our next meal. Season of time are spent isolating ourselves within the dungeons, believing this is our lot in life before we’ve tried to open the unlocked door.
It happens, sometimes, that we lean out of the window of our castle and a part of us escapes Time.
We lose our minds.
Not in the ceaseless worry of whether or not we are wasting our lives–something of which we are so accustomed–but in the scent of the wind and the breath of the flowers and the giggling of the pines.
We must be both careful and intentional. Leaning too far out of the castle, reaching towards the sensations of the forests, will cause us to lose all sort of grounding.
But to never lean at all.
That is monumentally worse.
I hear many people talk about balance. Tell me about balance. Advise me on how I should balance my Time. But they don’t know the weights in my mind. They don’t know my story. They don’t know how to balance me out of the window; that is for me to figure out.
There are a few times when I have leaned too far, and suddenly an entire day goes by of which I cannot account. Suddenly it’s dark and suddenly I am awake and suddenly I realize that one can spend an entire life being immortal and still die.
There are a few times when I have spent too much time in one room, and the dust which settles on all stagnant things covers my heads and hands with its sheen. I grow old in a manner of days and I have no patience for the giggles and chatters of the forest anymore.
Yet, there are still a few more times when I leap out of bed and open the windows, allowing the breeze and the leaves dance away the dust. The world is light within me and I am the albatross, soaring through the rooms of the castle without hindrance.
Peace and Blessings,