
The shart dripping, patriarchal worldview boils everything down to money; especially time.
We are taught that time is money, and the clock is ticking.
In our bewildering modern age, it turns out we can accomplish quadruple the work in only twice the time, making the forty-hour workweek a wistful memory of less productive, simpler times.
Leisure time has become an extravagant luxury while hard time is now commonplace.
The old flatulates in charge keep us on our toes by ensuring we have no time to lose and even less to spend. And yet, my most exquisite memories involve time completely lost, forgotten within a lively string of timeless and unproductive now’s.
In those moments of precious non-time, I discovered that the greatest harm I can do is to kill time as if it were expendable, mere fodder to be sacrificed unto the altar of well-heeled plutocrats.
I also discovered magick within the vibrant engagement with the infinity of timelessness.
Seems the greatest glory given us is perhaps the ability to live within the potential of time’s natural fullness, which has nothing to do with the psychology of time, and everything to do with the imagination of time.
One thing rings true: time is priceless and waits for no one. It shall pass regardless of how I choose to spend it. Seems the path into the full juiciness of time’s potential is found in the simple question:
Am I choosing well?
