Fear Rolls Off Round Time
Today I dance to Arabic taksim. The music hypnotizes me into the Moment. Vines of sound coil this way and that, furbelows and twists and double-backs and digressions. The flute takes me. We wind around and around, losing our bearings. As if in a blizzard, the world swirls white. I seem to waltz on the same spot, step after step, heading somewhere but which way? The world becomes spherical. The relentlessness of linear time has dissolved…When the snowfall ends, when the music resolves, the world stills. Where am I? I am somewhere, but is it forward or backward or up or down? I am just here…
The Tick of Death
And that is the point of Arabic taksim—to hypnotize us into here, now. Why is this so important? Linear time is the tick of death. A second is here and gone. Here and gone. Here and gone. Like snowflakes, seconds, full of accomplishment, appear to accumulate but like snow, they melt. Each melting second is life dissolving. We might dye our hair, fortify ourselves with offspring, dig for money, get busy and burdened, and we might complain about all this, but often it can merely be a hopeless stab at staving off death. All this avoidance of ‘not being’ enmeshes us in linear time.
When we enter the Moment, the flatness of linear time and our preoccupation with loss and ending, stops. We breathe, now. The Moment gives us eternity. It gives us spaciousness. As if plucked from gravity, we see beyond the flat plane and move freely in every direction with perfect safety and peace.
Yes, we must traipse or trudge the flatlands of linear time, but creatures of choice also fling wide the roundness of the Moment. Breathe and move and let go of compulsions. Breathe in life and breathe out fear. Again and again until it is True. Death becomes ‘yes, of course, ok, and?…’ rather than a shiver-me-timbers, ‘oh no!!!!!’ or the ridiculous ‘you but not me’. I like to head toward death embracing my life.
Looking at the spatial, temporal dynamic of my childhood I see the Cross—flat time and a vertical god (that man-like hologram on a high cloud.) It never rang true. My mystic heart craves the rolling, turning roundness, the center and the unfathomable edge, the possibility beyond imagination and understanding, not out of greed, but out of knowing that this Non-Time also is Truth. I know, in the back of my bones, running like water beneath my skin, that the apparent is the bridge to the Real. Entering the Moment is is how I cross the bridge.
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