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  • The past is so dreamlike, it's hard to hold on to. I lost my mother five years ago and at times I try to remember her laugh, her voice, her touch, what her hair looked like, how the skin on her arms bruised so easily and the scars that marked her body from the medical procedures that were scheduled to give her more of that precious but elusive commodity, time. When I wander through my memories I can call up all those things but they are small comfort.  She was so much more than those things.  When her body ceased functioning in the critical care unit that chilly November evening in 2007, it was so palpably apparent that she was no longer there.  The body that had carried, then betrayed her was laying in the bed but my mother was gone. Completely gone.  But gone where? That was the question I grappled with in my grief, continue to grapple with five years later.  I wish I could tell you I have had a flash of insight, a vision, a dream which has given me the answer to this haunting question.  But, no, instead I have simply developed the acceptance that my mother now lives in dreams of the past.

    The future, on the other hand, is not so much dreamlike as fantasy.  It is the world of possibility and potential, full of exciting ideas one moment and scary thoughts the next, depending on mood and anxiety levels. The future lives entirely within our minds and changes from moment to moment.  It is unsubstantial, unformed, not real.

    So, tomorrow is not real and yesterday is like a dream. Today, then, and more importantly this very moment, is all we really have, all we have ever had.  This moment knows nothing of "time".  It is as it is-- simply, innocently and honestly. From that perspective, the thought that one is "running out of time" is laughable.

    NOW is your time and it is all yours.

    Doesn't that make every little thing about this moment seem fresh and beautiful and so very, very precious?

    (image: Louise Docker, flickr commons)
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