All that exists is this moment.
Time is the measure of change. We imagine it has a character of its own, like chance, but neither time nor chance have properties: time is the relationship between two bodies, and chance is a mathematic statistic.
Both are ineffectual, impotent, without power and without cause; a semantic filler to describe what we don’t understand.
Memory, the great deceiver, constructs for us a reality of time-passed, and on that basis, we imagine it as real; but memory is a self-constructed string of events, construed to serve the present purpose.
The future, despite our dreams concerning it, is nothing more than anticipation, like a salivating dog at the sound of the dinner bell. It is experience creatively woven into a narrative to prepare the self for impending reward or punishment.
It does not render the terms meaningless, of course, but the essential reality of our semantic shortcomings must be seen for what they are: nonexistent.
Is there anything more spiritual, then, than being present? Is there anything more human than accepting reality as it is?
What is the human endeavor if it is not learning to let go of hope, relinquishing control of the ego’s desires, and allowing the moment to happen as it would?
Dwelling on the past only extends suffering to the current time, and daydreaming of the future only irritates anxiety and enlarges discontent.
Let go. Experience reality as it is right now. It is okay to be where you are because that is the only place you can be: here, present, now.
Embrace the now. Learn how to love each phase of the moon. For reality remembers her children, and in her acceptance there is freedom.
