On Slow Time

Outside my home
lives a large rock,
a boulder whose size and beauty fills visitors with awe.
This rock tells tales of slow time.

I watch myself rushing to yoga
and then laughing
when I remember yoga measures time in millions of years.
The yogi’s era, a yuga,
is measured in multiples of millions of human years.
The Krita Yuga, for example,
was 1,728,000 human years,
or 4,800 divine years if you prefer.

Do trees observe us
like we might look upon the fruit fly
whose life span is 40 to 50 days max?
In German we call them Eintagsfliege
the “One Day Fly,”
highlighting its short visitation on earth.
And like we might prematurely end their existence
so may Nature return us to dust.

Outside my house lives a rock
who sings of old time.
The scratch of needle on vinyl,
metallic elemental spirits
who sing with the remains of ancient plants and animals
it sounds to me like rock on rock.
Old time. Slow time.

Bayo Akomolafe invites us with his essay titled
“The Times Are Urgent, Let Us Slow Down”
to examine our nervous disposition.
“I must do something”
is not the same as doing something,
says Josh Schrei.

In slow time
we may find those long lost hidden answers.
In listening deeply
to what rocks have to say
we may remember patience.
We might recall
that healing cannot be rushed.

Wise action
is so often preceded by spacious time
that moment in the shower
when you weren’t wondering what to do.
That conversation with a grandmother
who remembers stories of…
… once upon a time.
Or that day you forgot your phone
and remembered to look your barista in the eyes,
and you noticed the nuanced coloring
and everything that there lies.

As I look at the rock outside my house
I remember The Never Ending Story,
a story of never ending time,
a story of open ended time.
I remember a rock, an island,
who is actually an ancient being
as old as time itself,
who speaks slowly,
who speaks riddle.

The world is crumbling before her eyes,
yet she remembers to speak slowly,
to breathe between each thought.

She reminds us that
Nature will not be rushed.
Everyone in nature has their own version of time.
The tree, the fruit fly,
the rock outside my house.

Nature will not be rushed.
Deep breath.
Nature will not be rushed.
Deep breath.
Nature will not be rushed.
Deep sigh.