Start Giving Life to Every Passing Moment
The Time Crying for a Meaning
Tick...tock...tick...tock...we have just released a few more of those precious seconds of our life into our past. Never to return. Used? Lost? Interesting? We don't know it yet, because like a poet once said: "Something first has to become our past, so that we may know its real significance."
Hours, days, or sometimes months may pass looking like a mental carbon copy of so many of those before, those that we dumped on our junkyard of the past that we wouldn't mind disowning in that never written autobiography.
Is it for them that in a retrospect life seems to be so short, so void of a content that would be worth storing in our memory albums? Where did all those years go? And how many more will have to pass before we may possibly make that decision to fill our given time with some more life?
What will the Future Say about the Present?
Are we in a habit of passively waiting for some special feature to "make our day"? So many folks are simply happy that nothing bad is befalling them. Like in that silly joke about a man coming home from the woods and all excited announcing to his family that a poisonous snake just saved his life. Asked how, he said: "It didn't bite me".
It's almost scary the way we wish our time away, as we keep glancing the clock on our job, wanting those hours to pass quickly. And then, how did that ever become common that we are talking about "having a good time"? Is there a "bad time", or we just made it so?
How many of us, especially of a senior variety go content from day to day only because "they are still kicking"? Years from now we may revisit these very days. With nostalgic thoughts and some possible regrets we may realize in how many ways these days could have been used. Indeed, memory can make such fools of us.
Let's Give Our Time a Substance
Time becomes such a precious commodity after we have hit a certain age, that every morning feels like a gift of being allowed to see yet another sunrise, and even enjoy that sound of the garbage truck loading our waste.
Shouldn't that sound remind us of something? If only the chime of that Big Daddy clock could be as loud as that truck to wake us up to the truth how it is ticking away our wasted hours to dump them at a collective junkyard of time.
Well, if the days seem to be shorter from year to year, maybe we could try to attach some new experiencing to those ticking seconds so that the volume of the day swells up a bit. So that we can actually have a nice story to tell our friends at the next get together - other than visits to the doctor, report of our aches and pains, and what evils are befalling the world.
A Metaphorical Kick in the Butt
These and alike thoughts and questions gave me a good kick in the butt (luckily) long time ago, so that my inventory of regrets doesn't really look so bad. By that time I already had quite an arsenal of life strategies under belt - with the only "small difference" that I had not been applying much of them.
Somehow, I guess, all that know-how was making me satisfied that I was a smarter dude than, say, our mailman, or that friend who "discovered" in a magazine how "stress is bad for us". Getting back to that butt being kicked by new realizations - it's still sore a bit, which is good, because some kinds of pain make us feel more alive. This one being only metaphorical didn't call for a professional help, but mobilized my own wisdom resources.
"Alpha Training" to the Rescue
However, the effects did feel like I got a full transfusion from a maniac or something. O.K., not that I started rearranging the furniture, or painting the whole apartment; not even a regular car wash came to mind to replace the "metro wash" - I mean rain.
But instead, I moved into the playhouse of my mind as a permanent tenant and started giving every moment of my life its due respect. So I pulled all those unused aces from my sleeves to see what could be the most useful one. Being a pragmatic dude, nothing of theory attracted my attention.
But then I remembered that "alpha training", something that I used to practice for a while, and then got lazy to continue. Basically, it's insistence on feeling great, by pulling out any happy memory from the memory bank, until the "feel of it" becomes repeatable without any content.
In other words, being happy without any reason for it. So I started doing it like a man possessed. Happiness became my priority. Soon came the reasons for it - by some strange and possibly spooky reverse causality of feelings attracting the matching circumstances . My life was on the way of assuming a new fabric of time.
Becoming a "Mental Athlete"
I called it a simple name - "pumping alpha", borrowing the term from those guys that are pumping iron. Actually it was a good name for it, because I started seeing myself as a sort of a "mental athlete", without a gym to attend, as my mind became my gym, and the training turned into a way of life.
Never before had I known how much fun could be derived from each simple moment. Suddenly I would get inspired how to make a cashier laugh at a grocery store, or I got spurred to give compliments to my neighbors in the elevator.
During my walks in my favorite park-forest I would stop dog owners and what would start as a compliment to a dog escalated into some nice conversations, almost ending up with exchange of telephone numbers, but with seeing each other again in the park as a "sure thing".
I also took a new interest in my wife's favorite themes, those that used to be reserved for her long telephone talks with her friends. The life took a new turn, and I loved it, every minute of it. And I still do.
Those Sweet Moments by the Passing River
Sitting on the bench and gazing at the passing river I could envision myself enveloped in a shimmering cloud of healing energies, and the experience was greatly enhanced by the sound of the passing water, by the distant sound of geese and ducks having their conversations, those happy birds song, and a heat bug up in the tree.
The river was like time, seemingly the same, but like the wise saying goes: "We never step in the same river twice", and that was becoming the way I treated my time. Suddenly I could experience every detail of my surroundings filling the seconds with something of a value.
Deeply present in my ticking seconds, repossessing them all. With all that, life stopped being a story but an experience dense with contents. It didn't matter what was happening, it all belonged there, and nothing like an entertaining feature of the day was missing.
Tick...tack...tick,,,tack...aren't you already nostalgic about these seconds that just passed? So, why not give those coming ones a brand new meaning? Smile for nothing. Hum a song. Wink at yourself in the mirror. call a friend and tell her something nice, maybe to "make her day" in the string of monotonous seconds of her life.
Or just drop your tense shoulders to unburden them from the weight of life. Do anything consciously, and that intent alone will justify the gift of those passing seconds.