This place has teleported me from the trapping of the matrix and enchanted me with the divine.
There is a loss of time, the minutes passing like days, relying on my trusty Garmin to give me a feeling of time and space.
Time is such a brutal master, it’s seconds counting down over our heads as we scurry about to beat the relentlessness of its taunting tic-toc.
Why did we create this torture for ourselves? Was it so we can measure the amount of kinetic activity, conjured up to give us a feeling of accomplishment? Even worse yet, is it a creation of control over our fellow man, forced to exist within the demands of a white and round disk with 12 numbers, operated by an AA battery?
Coupled with it’s father, Mr. Calendar, we cross off the days as if we’re measuring what was never intended to be calculated, rushing through presence into days that are not yet while grieving days that already have been. And oh how we grieve.
Can we change this measurement? Perhaps I’m crazy. Yes, most likely so.
I’m unskilled in this reasoning for I’ve already placed the resort activities on my iPad calendar, synced with the Garmin and made certain I have adequate 30 min, pre-appt reminders to alert me when I’m to conclude my current practice of pool side lounging and head to the spa for a Swedish massage. If I get there early enough, I can have a Eucalyptus steam and lounge in a terry cloth robe with a ginger tea.
Hurry! Don’t be late! I must leave presence in exactly 7 min otherwise I miss the next scheduled activity.
Like being caught in the manic motion of an asteroid belt, a lone perilous ship dodging planet-sized craters that will disintegrate my piloted vessel, I swerve, duck and weave through the passing seconds, making fear-of-missing-out a reality.
The only danger here, anywhere really, is lack of awareness. We’ve grown accustomed to life like zombies, walking to the passing seconds beat, the internal soul drum that pilots us into moments we never wanted, much less created.
Not so here.
Truthfully, that compulsion is gracefully confronted, becoming conscious to your being through group breath work, guided by skillful practitioners and a staff that radiates love.
It’s okay to be lost.
Lost in bliss. Lost in love. Lost in the enjoyment of life’s buffet.
When we’re lost, we are as children reminding me of Jesus the Christ’s words when he told his followers, “become as little children, and surely you will inherit the kingdom of god.”
Like so many of the sages, poets and gurus of old, they showcase the artfulness in the mastery of time.
Today, I think I’ll ditch the Garmin, abandon the schedule and unwrap this gift of presence in a heavenly place called, Rythmia.