Flows of Time

Time flows as a great river through the endless passages of days, events unfold and tales are told beyond remembrance. Lives crisscross and destinies are made. I stand in the light of days past and look to those ahead. What future is there without remembering the flows of past time? 1

Standing in front of the small window in my smaller office, staring at the bright winter morning shining down on the endless flows of people out there, my mind wanders. I see a small patch of green with a single tree off to the distance, hiding behind the drab grey of buildings and roads. Like a priceless jewel this single tree calls to my heart as if in understanding of the agony I must live through. It beckons, calling me and I wish to leave this place and sit under its branches and dream of a better time, but I turn away and once again am faced with the bleak future of endless days. This flow of Time seems like a storm and I am but a mere twig caught in the horrendous flood. 2

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To heal of pain takes great courage, and Time. Or so I was told by a wise woman I know. I see her now, sitting in front of me. The last vestiges of the winter morning sun shines on us, warming me to this place I find myself in. Outside the first birds are appearing, but I am still deaf to their music, and once I thought I would always be. But we talk of things, both of then, of now and of those yet to come. How different this flow of Time is can only be described in images. A single tree that called to a soul in pain. A voice ringing out in the darkness amid sounds of an age old symphony. I sit now under this tree, this place I am in, and under its branches I heal. This flow of Time truly carries me ever forward. 4

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I walk outside into the fresh winter morning sun, its rays barely warming me. Everywhere I turn people pass me by, oblivious to the cruelty dealt to me. Walking over to the green field I sit under the shadows of the building, its presence looming like a dark cloud on my very existence. Inside I know my torture will continue, yet I know no escape. Such brief solitudes as I may find outside are only small barriers to the suffering I must endure, here in this place so far from what I call home. This flow of Time knows only suffering, and I am a victim of great unjust. 6

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Laughing at a single joke, the sound of it shocks me, and I am snapped back to where I am. She still sits there, looking at me like I am somebody I have forgotten to be. My mind wanders over the events of those many days and I see them as a darkness, a soul wrenching end to everything I have known. But here in this place I know only peace and tranquility, a beauty and love for life so strong it amazes me that I once thought the dreary life in that other place would consume me. This flow of Time is majestic. 8

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Driving back to the single room apartment I wonder at the mindlessness of this existence. To exist purely to continue existing is killing me, and I must find escape, or die. But in my room I type those first words, and a new world speaks to me for the first time. Yet it is too early, and I have a world of suffering to experience. Silently my days fill up with nothing but an endless pitch black of mechanical movements, all life sucked out of me. Creativity abolished, true essence of this man is vanquished by this place. This flow of Time is horrendous in its unknowing torture. 10

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But I tell you now, all such things are past. Words have spoken and lives have combined. The song of that symphony still rings in my ears. Memories of a dark place intertwined with those of a brighter future, it reminds me of pain and joy, of love and anguish. The world of my creation has spoken. From the darkness of my own suffering she has awakened my own thirst for survival. A great gift to have. When you have lost yourself in such things it seems that only the endless darkness of the long sleep can be the escape. But through her and this place I am in now I find another thirst. That for life. The first words of my own world and those of hers broke through the barrier, and now I am healing. This flow of Time is like the wind blowing in the trees, making its own music and soothing those in pain. 12

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A last look at my office where I have spent so many days. Here I have learned to lose what I treasure most, and not until it was lost did I even know it existed. Myself, the very spirit of who I am can so easily be forgotten when the flows close in on each other and the days itself open up like a great gaping mouth wishing to swallow you whole. I turn my back on that dreary room and step into the last days of winter sunlight. I smell the beginnings of spring in the air, and with a small glimmer of hope I turn my back on this foul existence. This flow of Time has come to an end, forever. 14

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We talk yet again, me and she, and those around her too. I am greeted like family in this wonderful place overlooked by the caring warm sun of a fresh spring morning. I have slept a long time, and now I am awake. Perhaps one day such things will become a testament to what can be done when the spirit is crushed and awakened. The search for survival is strong and I find myself enjoying each day like that first day in this loving place. Because you never know when the flows of Time can rip you away from yourself. When darkness falls and the sounds of that melody rings up, the love of those around you is the only thing that carries you onwards to an ever brighter future. 16

This flow of Time is unending.17

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