Time is the mother of all illusions, of all excuses. It is the sand upon which promises are built and the rock on which expectations come crashing down. And if you were to avoid the endless crashes of this ludicrous rollercoaster, then time is a prison that is built sitting down. In waiting rooms, in hospitals, time is the one month coma that has lasted five years and counting. Time is a word that never tires of coming back on board of millions of what ifs, a tenacious act full of doubt, the skinny woman that holds the grown man to her breast so he may forever suck on regret.
Time is a pair of hands that let go way too soon, time is not an album but rather a ripped picture that keeps on losing pieces. Time is not a collection but rather the lost item. A man standing outside a door, hearing the cries and heavy breathing. The scars and burns, the unanswered questions, the empty rooms heavy with scents and memories, heavy with a presence, heavy with an absence. Time is the beggar watching feet and wheels go by, looking at the same cracks, memorizing them, noticing them as they grow and move on while he stays put. Time is the robber that steals from the rich as well as the poor and gives to none.
But when the bird finally lands on your shoulder and you take to the stillness, then time is a poor man getting buried under the sand of the hourglass, time is the writings on the shores wiped away by waves. Time is the man standing on a ledge, who doesn’t know if he’s being pulled back or pushed forward and we’re the ones holding him. Dead on the ledge as well as the ones who hold onto him. Dead on the ground, as well as those who refuse to let go.
So let go, let be and feel the breeze under the wings of that rebellious seagull. Feel the horizon shift with every clap of his wings. And watch what is not falter at his cry. Head beneath it all, above it all, beyond it all. To the core of the fire that has spread, to where water and spirit bond to make the whole word anew, beyond illusions, without excuses and within you. There time and space fall to their knees, shiver to dirt at the sight of the Divine.
Eddy Abi Younes