For awhile time has lined up for me in ways that demand to be noted.
Everything seems to flow magnificently.
I do a lot and yet time feels spacious. Cavernous. It’s rare that I feel harried anymore. I run an art gallery with my wife. Besides the physical time at the gallery space, we are on the move, visiting clients’ homes with artwork, doing side trips for supplies, occasionally taking week-plus van trips to visit artist studios and exchange artwork.
With this same remarkable woman, I raise a son. There’s a lot of tag-teaming going on because of the demands of retail hours, school times and projects, activities, play dates, house maintenance.
I write for this site simultaneously while writing a bookito*. And a book. I communicate back and forth with readers, and with fine minds doing their own groove work out there on the Internet.
Most weeks I get three hours or more of physical activity in. Plus, I have real friends I stay in touch with (as opposed to speaking with only a few times a year), a dog, sometimes two since we get a lot of visiting dogs.
Did I mention I like the occasional nap too?
So to have time flow so well is a transcendant feeling. I feel I have all the time I need or want. I have a friend who’s constantly saying there’s not enough time to do all he wants to do. For him that’s true, because what you state emphatically has a powerful way of solidifying into your experience.
I attribute the beginnings of this to my meditation practice. Before my daily practice, I worked against time. I crammed too many things into time so that time learned from me to deliver that back to me always.
In meditation, time becomes spacious then amorphous then a tool then immaterial then inconsequential then meaningless.
In meditation I gained a different appreciation for time. And in doing so began to relate differently to time outside of meditation.
It’s one of the wonders of the world, that taking time for a break — when you think have no time
— re-aligns time so that you do.
There are days when I glance at a clock and it is 11:11 and then again it’s 12:12 and then 2:22 and then 4:44 and then 5:55. I take these as winks from the universe, a little wink that all is well, all is lining up nicely, don’t worry, be happy.
I started posting recently at 11:11 am because it felt congruent with my experience. Not always, but mostly. At least for now.
Last night I was reading a blog post and saw that one of the related links at the bottom was titled 11:11.
I mean, !!:!!, wow.
* Bookito: my term for a short-form book. In novel form they’re called novellas. Amazon calls them Singles.
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