Time

It is time.

…and I know it.

With much fear and trembling, I go out to meet him.

“It will kill the false dream.’ He states right when I come within earshot.

“False dream?” I question under my breath. I don’t really want him to hear my mutterings because I don’t want an answer. Not his anyway.

My mind is muddled and confused.

I hold fast to the false dream. My illusion or delusion. Whatever it is, it suits me fine. I’ve read enough ancient, philosophical texts to understand he is talking about the dream of form.

Wake up. Wake up. The gentle wind calls, but I am groggy. Still half way under the ether of that world out there. Forever distracting. Anything to get far far away from… here.

Spending time with him will kill the the false dream and I know it. Go, go, go. Get, get, get. Become, become, become. Do, do, do.

He, in turn, just goes on forever, defying time itself. Endless. persistent. constant. Always changing. Yet forever remaining the same.

The pull of form is mesmerizing and enticing. Yet, toxic. It offers such a bright and beautiful future full of endless possibilities. But what of Now?

I stay. I want to release all the promises the world has to offer. That future. Preferring to pass it on to the next willing participant.

I want truth.

And truth is always what is now.

Truth

“This is truth.” He glances over at me and smiles, offering me a small, piping hot, brown paper bag.

Normally, I would accept his gift with a thank you and a genuine warm smile – you know the drill. But not today. Today, I am curious.

I take the bag with a knowing smile.

I understand in that moment, he knows. Has always known, and yet here he is still offering, choosing to look past my arrogance, my pride, and my stubborn refusal to accept the gift that comes with each and every passing moment. After countless rejections, still he offers. Steadfast. Faithful.

Closing my eyes, I open the bag. Not really wanting to see what is inside, but now… insanely curious.

What is comfort?

Reaching in the bag, I pull out a chunk of beef jerky.

Shit.

I can’t eat this. I think to myself. Doubt, my forever friend – the kind of friend I don’t really like but always keep around – creeps in, maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe this is just a crazy old man and I am a crazy, not yet but getting there, old lady.

Once again I am in a state of resistance. Not this. Not now. My familiar mantra runs through my head. Followed by Why this? Why now?

“Take this. Eat.” It was a command but not forced. As nothing is ever forced, I know I have a choice.

In the halls of my memories I stand at the alter of a familiar old church. The priest hands me a wafer. “Take this. Eat. This is my body broken for you.”

‘My body broken for you… my body broken for you…’ echoes in the still air as I hesitate, forever unwilling to make a choice.

The old man just smiles and closes his eyes.

I take a bite.

It was a sacrifice – a willing one. With no judgment or resentment. No strings attached. Not one thing expected in return.

Only, maybe, a hope.

In that moment, I felt the life of the cow flow through me. I felt the bliss and joy of life as she roamed the beautiful green mountainside, eating grass, drinking rain water that flowed through the nearby stream. Continually nurtured and cared for by mother earth. I felt the thaw of spring morning, the scorch of summer day, the cool of autumn evening, the bitter cold of winter night. All seasons with the promise of life and death and life again. A continual renewing.

It was glorious.

The cow had been… present. It lived in a state of non resistance every moment of its short life. Happy and content, even though it lived with an inner knowing that ultimately it would give of itself… if for nothing else but to sustain me, to give me life. Right now.

And it had agreed to it.

Never forced, as nothing in nature is forced.

A willing sacrifice to complete the circle.

Tears wells up. I can not stop them. They flow like the very river the cow drank from. And by them, I give back.

“Thank you.” I sob.

The old man does not speak. He knows I am not speaking to him. My words go out across time and space, I only hope they will come to rest in the right place.

I feel love.

True and genuine. Unconditional.

I want to offer the only thing I can – my genuine, humble, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

The flavor of the jerky intensifies, almost exploding in my mouth with pure joy as if the jerky itself, a final faint remainder of a past, most precious life – for isn’t all life precious? – was sharing or possibly returning my own sentiment.

Happy at last to know, that its very reason for living was finally, truly appreciated.

A willing sacrifice, come full circle… made complete.

All for me.