Waiting for waiting — you find time
I’m waiting
I find myself waiting. It’s quiet. Everything around me moves while I stand still. The passersby, the people with pets, the children on bikes. Everyone to’ing and fro’ing. A busy world. I escape. I wait.
There’s a taste of silence coming from inside. It satisfies. Quiets down. Distance from the outside created by the waiting. Closer to inside. Closer to me. I can hold myself here. Settle down. Feel my head nestled on a pillow. Clouds form all around me. While I wait I find me.
This waiting place stills me. It aligns me. I have to wait so I can catch up. I wait to move forward. I wait to find balance. I wait. In waiting I can become steady enough to walk on a tightrope between two mountains. I can feel the mist brushing my head in the clouds. On a pillow of my own clouds formed from within.
Waiting. The distance between here and there. Between then and now. Between birth and death. Between open and close. Waiting holds me steady. The limbo of destiny. The linger of time that you seldom have for yourself presenting itself while you wait.
Ah waiting, we meet again.
