Clarity for a Scattered Mind

Scattered mind at the moment. Using this space in an attempt to lure some clarity. There are so many places and acts to take the place of Time’s time. How does a human being decide on which of the many to choose from? There is only one way, one way through time, one way of life. There are many things the one can be but the one will always be one. One. Single. Solo. A unit. Almost a fraction. Yes, the fact that it is only one but it could be so many means that it is a fraction. The life we ultimately live is but a fraction.

Which fraction will you choose? Which fraction should I choose? I’m using these seconds, which will eventually become minutes, many minutes, to write. I am writing this with this piece of time. This piece of my time.

Is it my time? Not truly, but also yes. To me, this is the only. But I know that I am not the only. There are numerous onlys in life, but only this only is the only I perceive. I only exist inside this being. This being only exists because of every second that has come before it.

The water out the window soothes me. There’s something about flow. This continuous flow I see before me. I stare at it and try to avoid being conscious of the laptop that sits at the edge of my eyes’ frame. I believe in water, I don’t believe in technology. I don’t know if that is true.

I equate the time spent with the laptop as decaying time. Poisoned time. Time given to UnEarthly matter. I feel guilty, like I’m betraying my body, for spending so much of time sitting and facing a laptop. I wish to lay in rivers.

Our time isn’t ours. Spiritually, it’s God’s; scientifically, it’s Reality’s; societally, it’s jointly owned by myself and my company. Societal time is the true time. Societal time is the false time. Societal time is the conscious time.

There are flowers on the wall beside me. True and false flowers. They’re images of flowers. It’s wallpaper. Each bouquet is identical to the next bouquet. Every image is identical. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Days exist in loops until they’re disrupted. I require more disruptions. I require more consciousness. Too often am I blind to my own time.

I’m conscious of this current slice of time. Mostly. Let me just track some seconds. I shall sit with them as they pass.

The world’s sounds become louder when you listen to Time. A new level of depth to creatures, constructions, and characters becomes transparent. Elements become fuller. Time becomes fuller. Time needs to be filled. Not only lengthwise, widthwise, but its depth needs filling too. Fill the depth with observation. That’s where I can be. That’s the birthplace of clarity.

Listen to Time, with your nose, ears, and eyes, and life will grow from a fraction to a whole.