Future Present Tense

I've always felt there was something eerie about the state of transition, and in trying to put my finger on it, I realized: it's not transition that I'm experiencing. It's suspension.

Suspension of time. Suspension of truth. Suspension of breath. All by a thread. Or perhaps something thicker.

I've set up permanent residence in this state of suspension, because here, a decidedly unBuddhist mindset allows me to hope for a future present with a different past.

Second hands don't tick here, and so yesterday and tomorrow are just parts of today. It hasn't been weeks since I've blogged. It hasn't been months since I've spoken to my pregnant and parenting friends. It hasn't been years since I started at my clinic. And it hasn't been nearly a decade since I bought my house with its fenced-in yard for the kids to play.

It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)
It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)
It hasn't.
(Yes, it has.)

This idiotic dance is what finally got me to discover the fabric of the noose: Nothing is happening in the third dimension, and therefore nothing can be happening in the fourth.

So there's the realization, and it's not eerie at all. It's just your basic, homespun denial wrapped in a Matrix film.

And with that a-ha, I have a choice: do I turn to face a new direction where purpose doesn't hinge on ifs, or do I wrap myself more tightly and take a nap?