Minute by Minute counting down to 60

The phenomena of time fascinates me.  The experiencing of time blows my mind!  For years I have sworn off being tied to time.  In the conventional sense. Wearing a watch, keeping track.  Which is not to say that I don't pay careful attention to time.  I do.  I am rapt by pondering the nature of a "moment," by inquiring into the experience of time mindfully measured and playfully explored.

A teacher said:  we live moment by moment and each moment is the same as every other moment.  Meaning that each moment is equally precious.  I cannot imagine living so intensly, I doubt I have the constitution or stamina for it.  Imagine how exhausting it would be to be deeply into the sanctity of each "moment."  Imagine how joyful, timeless, and fulfilling?

As we age by necessity we grow to understand time in multiple ways.  We have felt the urgency of a second, and caught the twinkle of the eye.  We have been absorbed into the magic of a moment, and been taken for a "magic carpet ride."  We have all experienced  moments which have changed us - changed our sense of self and moments in which we have transcended self and felt or sensed the presence of the Holy.  We have observed the changing seasons many many times now, and no longer can we pretend that we have an unlimited number of seasons left.   We understand that each life has its seasons and we appreciate this more as we cross into the autumn and winter of our own life and those of our loved one's.

Time grows shorter.  Time becomes more precious.  Time's use becomes more valuable.  Make love not war!

I am fascinated by rhythm and rhythms.  By the beat, by the pulse, by the gentle sway of rock and of soul. I feel I am in the autumn of my life and as of yet I do not know what rhythm (s) await me.  Which one's will entice and captivate and which will take me to the doorway of the timeless.

I wonder, how long is a moment, I wonder how moments are most often measured.  I do not know how I will feel until I actually arrive at 60.  But suprizingly as I write at 59 and 51 weeks, dead broke  money wise, but oh so rich in other more lasting treasures.  I digress,

I wonder if I can capture via the photographic process some sense of time.  A leaf falling.  A bird singing.
Breeze carressing flesh and defusing aroma's as I take a breath.  Aware that the moving of air into this body is equivalent to the breeze moving across the trees, the grass, the world as it exists for me, in this time of nearing 60 and in this space called Durango Colorado.

doc rob