Redefining Writing (part 7: note)
This is my time, not time that I had borrowed, or sold for money in advance: there is no one waiting for me, there is no one calling me, there is nothing timing me, there is no expectation, right now there is nothing that I need to do. Using words, I try to clarify this point, to make it clear again for me, to stay close with this realization, but yet I make it complex; like the existence of my life on earth, the evidence of my beating heart within my body, it is a simple thing, it rests on nothing, and yet in attempting to describe it I lead myself away from it and into more distraction. In a dream I turned to see the dawn: it was a tiny point of light, and yet so strong that it threw massive shadows, black against the darkness.
Into me again I sound the words: “This is My Time.” I repeat this phrase, hoping to re-live the first experience of liberation that opened up in me, that relief, that realization of a simple truth, of that crucial point I had suppressed, that now in the resounding of these words within me I might extend a better grasp of it, embed it into me, to never lose it from my starting point again, to have it present with me in my travels and perspectives. And in doing that I see the phrase My Life is also woven in, they are as one; Time, and Life, with that intimate experience that I call Me, not as the owner of, in separation, but as the spark within them.
Adam's Journey Into Life 