Years: Reflection & Meditation

Note: This piece is a bit different — an experiment in weaving poetry and prose together. I hope it speaks rather than stumbles, and that the blend feels alive to you.

The measure of a thing — the length of its existence until it surrenders its current form and returns to what it once was. Years. This is a reflection on time and aging.

Oh the years,

Long since turned to gray,

Fogged-over recollections,

Mingled with intimate reflections.

They move so fast. We all have those days when it seems a blur, when the rush of immediacy robs us of the presence to truly exist in time, to experience it, rather than just being passengers.

They pass so fast,

Measured more by meaning

Than accomplishment —

With friendships and family formed.

So much is taken for granted, so many bridges burned in the act of growing, and mistakes we repeat in spite of ourselves.

They accrue regret like grime:

The more of one,

The more of the other,

All trails not trekked cementing with time.

It is not possible to live a vibrant life without regrets. Every soul wonders over the path not taken. It is the cost of the trip.

The more years you have,

The foggier the first become,

Like slides seen alone,

Taken from a larger presentation.

The last ten remain clear, and today as well, but the rest grow less focused, carrying more of that pixelated fuzziness the further we drift from the present.

Fickle, friend of none,

Taker and giver both,

A fictitious measure imagined

By the One beyond it.

Time loses its power when it no longer governs your continued existence, when you dwell perpetually in the Radiance.

Finite as are we all,

Apart from Him,

Limited and not guaranteed,

Leaving even in giving,

Until we return.

We call it home in our current exile. We long for it without proper words, with aching anticipation.

To our former glory,

When our tent is transformed,

Burned to crisp and ash,

And dust the prison becomes again.

As always — Dust,

To you,

For you,

From Him,

In me.