Emperor Time : Embracing life's journey through unexpected timing

My life has always been busy enough. Constantly brushing up against time but I never really knew I could be touched by time.

I mean to be disturbed by it, to lose track of it, time devoid of detail, and to truly wrestle with what time is.

In this world as I am sure you are well aware we cling to the structures of time.

Paradoxically, our perception of time can remain invisible, even when marked out on calendars, and clocks which segment time to the second. One of my favourite visual displays of time is the clock wall gallery. Places where you would find this include a global office, a hotel attracting international clientele or an international airport. For those who instantly clocked the image, thank you for moving patiently with me through the detour.

What we rarely turn our attention to or least acknowledge is our internal clock. There is an internal clock for each one of us that pays no mind to the time of the world. Mine moved for me ever so profoundly and swiftly when my Mom died in a blink of an eye. Death pierced the veil of time , and I fell through into this parallel universe where things appear to have a pace that is different. Before this time though, I experienced a whole other time,  a place where time itself becomes imperceptible. Nothing stirred, nothing changed. If  I were to depict the stillness of this time by way of a colour gradient, here, the gradient of time is black. It completely masks your past life, your present life and your future life. She is a stark black, an abyss and her edges uncertain. You lie beneath all of the world. Yet, even during this time , where you find yourself fallen out of sync with the machinations of worldly time you aren’t immune from thinking about how you should be using your time. Is it constructive and productive? These are the questions you boldly challenge your numbness and untethered self with.

Losing my Mom, Francisca, fractured my existence. That it was unexpected would be to let the exclamation mark strike like a bolt of lightning. I was toppled by grief. This thing, the wound- grief, it takes time. I took a career break so I could give myself time to grieve, to collectively grieve with loved ones  and to help settle my family.  It was impossible to busy myself with reinventing myself out of existential loss. This riddled me with guilt about loss of time. But time demanded that I change and perceive it differently. I had to relinquish this learnt discipline of time, and surrender to what was showing up in real time. With time, I turned my attention to my own breath. This action of drawing a breath, one breath at a time, each one, signalling a little rebirth. Noticing my breath, and releasing it, was enough. It evidenced life where grief had stifled me. I learnt to  give myself permission to take one step at a time. Small deliberate acts to move myself emotionally, physically or mentally and for a long time that just looked like rest.

Then gradually this porous barrier in time comes into focus. A turning point which I assume is this long expressed insight; “the wound is where the light enters“.

This gradient of time  has shifted life from black to, out of focus.

This sliver of light seeping through the cracks, and with that ray of hope, I sense the possibility to rediscover life again. Bringing with me the presence of my senses. This is what I try to cultivate now instead of chasing time.

Even in the darkest of times , where time whimpers, I assure you time is taking notice of every pace, every tone, every mood and every gesture.

Like the Emperor in his new clothes, society dresses us in illusions about time  with calendars, hacks, deadlines, milestones, and we often conform to the social pressures to perform time. When we dare to unburden ourselves, we let the power and integrity of the passage of time unfold.

What I see as the point of time is that each moment disappears, and in its vanishing anchors us to the truth of being present.

For time is law of nature itself, reminding us that nothing stands still, everything must change and every season has its place.

No societal architecture of time can outwit it. You are a whole living system existing within an even larger living system - you need rhythm.

My radiant mom Francisca - I will always wish I had more time with her

My mother dying in a blink of an eye has been the singular most sensorially heightening experience of my life. Unlike virtually all else,  her passing is an unchanging fact. This doesn’t pass with time. The process of pursuing life after the death of a great love is the hard work of weaving loss into the fabric of living. I am learning to hold what I cannot change while this process continues to change me. The only thing to do is to be aware and hold rhythm.