Seconds are the slender threads of sacred moments.
Moments weave into hours, forming the warp and waft of our days.
Over time, days collect into weeks, months, and eventually years. They become our past.
We overload our schedules and forget to pace. We bolt from one activity to the next and fail to savor the epochal strands of time. We live as if we are spectators instead of participants and contributors. We consume, consume, consume - distracted and busied in a world without constraint. We are pulled toward this cause, that group, this need, that event.
Computers, radios, and televisions draw us relentlessly to consume insatiably, their information. They implore us to places where we are dominated and directed by external voices (some familiar, others alien). Rather than defining and directing the course of our own lives we submit, by default, to the urgings of others. How do we protect and guard, esteem and honor - the seconds that form minutes and the hours that braid our days into rich treasures. The cords of connection are opportunities to reward a good deed, deposit encouragement, develop intimacy, bask in stillness, listen to the chirp of birds - the laughter of children, foster a smile, release hope, support a need, unravel a wound, surrender a hurt, and unleash the power of forgiveness in kindness and grace.
Some days, this hurry-up world demands we disregard even the utter simplicity and significance of breath - the value of a pause, the innocence of silence.
This span we call time - the cluster of scattered seasons fused by fragmented conflicts and disagreable pain mixed with joyful encounters and tender tempos - precipitously summon and frame our vision. The strands may be tied by a gossamer ribbon unfurled in the wind, or a thick rope tied to heavy anchors.
Some of the things we do everyday... some thoughts we may have uttered a hundred times... a task we could do with our eyes closed, echo the uneventful and mundane. Yet, every second, every minute, every hour, entwines within potential: pivotal arcs - not trivial consequences.
Almost without notice, a rhythmic stitch repeatedly constructs the moments that weave your legacy... and mine. Dare we neglect the threads or this vital tapestry? Is it not our duty to redeem the time?
© Silent Mornings