Maybe it is that I am skipping past 50 with this next birthday that has me thinking about time.
15 minutes of sand in the hourglass.
15 minutes of thread, snip.
15 minutes of creating, what?
Just as there is no inherent value in gold, only what it can purchase,
so it is with time: only what can be spent.
Pleasantly spent minutes can transport us:
To the bottom of the sea, to the top of the hill, to a lover’s bed,
to a picnic of French cheese and bread.
Such power these minutes have.
But what about the minutes we squander?
Tossed off the cliff,
Crushed under foot
Smothered with a pillow.
Gone gone gone.
No bringing them back – those minutes.
Even as I write they are slipping out from under me, ice beneath a skater.
So what makes our minutes juicy, rich, decadent …. worthy?
I believe it is that every moment must be experienced. Good or bad, happy or sad, the minutes must be felt, tasted, experienced. We are here to experience:
A dance in the hall, tea in the cup, an ache in the heart, a blister on a foot, an orgasm on the bed, loud laughter at a joke.
Every second is to be felt, experienced.
Hold them precious those minutes. Don’t toss them aside, ignore them, forget them, wish them quick passing, live another life while they go zipping, zipping by.
So how would you spend those minutes, those precious minutes, if you were to remember those minutes were yours to spend? Not your husband’s, mother’s, partner’s, friend Sally’s, no one else’s but yours.
Would eyes fill and hands tremble? “I can’t imagine that. I can’t even imagine that.”
Cupping cold hands in mine, I whisper, “Remember when you were eight years old, with not a care in the world, what would you imagine then?”
15 minutes.