zenosyne: the sense that time keeps going faster…Life is short. And life is long. But not in that order. —The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Sometimes, I am trapped in a room–a cold, dark, gray-curtained, dull-shadowed room–and there is a TV in the corner. On that TV, on every channel, my life is broadcast in the past and future. The past blends elements of smothering cake at first birthday parties, squatting in the mud with action figures, climbing evergreen trees in the back yard, the first time of looking at another person and feeling a flutter, dark nights of rocking back and forth on the carpeted floor, the red beady eyes of an alarm clock calling for another day, another day. Then the future takes what is known and fantasizes it–blows it into an apocalypse of dismembered limbs and swollen tears beating rhythm to a mud floor. Or it romanticizes it–breathes the truth into a fairy tale, gives Cinderella wings and a sword and turns the mundane world into Neverland, only a sprinkle of pixie dust away.
But life is zenosyne, fast then slow, minutes shoved into hours, hours copied over minutes; Days last for years, years pass like the striking of a candle flame.
The past chases like a stray dog biting at my heels when I think it is finally gone; it is like a dirty laundry basket where jeans, soggy towels, stained sweaters accumulate and I cannot make them clean again. The future is whisper, scream, dreamy. It is the best and the worst, wrapped together with emptiness and coated with color.
How then should I live?
I do not know. I will never know completely.
That horribly defining, beautifully humbling thought brings me back to what is my purpose? and why was I created? and if I follow that trail to its end, I see my Creator. Then time ceases its dizzying spell and I can sit on the edge of the cement ledge in the park–the metal fence and husky plants behind me and the glassy river, sailboats, and sunset ahead–and finally be at peace.
(Picture taken by me in Indianapolis in December of 2015)