Time Stream

I live in a time stream, a tick-tock of nows that are birthed constantly.  The past is dead, the future only a dream as the nows cast off the past and make the future a new now.

I am an event.  I have only now as my front accelerates and my back slows.  Time seems so slow to a hummingbird, it can crowd the whir of its wings into each measure of time.  For me, the space between each tick and each tock shortens, so I struggle to count all the activities of those who are younger than I am, only to discover that time won’t wait but flows unimpeded by my shortening, lagging steps.  For all the movement of time, for all of everything being an event, now remains ever-present, ever-changing.  A flow in the stream of reality.

Time will be when my rebirthings will take a different form, and they will join the decelerating that I identify as me.  I will lag even more and stop.  And the event that was me will take a different identity as it transforms into the unknown.  Will I lose the me-ness?  Or will I become another me in the renewing of nows?

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