Noodling: Mortality

Mortality...

Mine wasn't a consideration on the other side of thirty. Before time was real. Not until approaching fifty.

That is when I began to time travel.

Years became like weeks. The hand of God became unmistakable. Brushes with death and gifts of life became more obvious in hindsight.

Staying awake while living in the dream.

The lucid moments now far outnumber the obscured ones.

The last decade forced us to look and challenged us to see what was there all along.

We are our brother's keeper.

We are our brother.

The cream rises to the top.

So does the garbage.

Both are necessary.

Only then can we see the texture...the patterns...the path...the Way back to immortality.

I am the child who loved Christmas and Easter, and the adult who loves them for entirely different reasons.

An evolution of love.

An evolution of seeing.

I sometimes turn my thoughts to friends who crossed over when we were children. I wonder who they would have become, the grandchildren they never held, the conversations they never had, the ordinary moments that quietly make a life. They never reached thirty. Or fifty.

Yet they have now existed beyond time longer than they ever lived within it.

One day, we all will.

Perhaps that is why mortality no longer feels like an ending.

It feels like an invitation...

To notice the texture.

To recognize the patterns.

To walk more deliberately.

To hold this moment a little longer.

Maybe that is what time has been trying to teach me all along.

Not how little of it I have left...

But how much of eternity has been quietly finding me.

Perhaps learning to embrace mortality is simply the beginning of remembering immortality.

Maybe time travel was never about going forward at all.

Maybe it has always been about finding my way back...

Back to immortality.