Time is the functioning organizer of the universe putting us all into our place each moment, larger then all of us and as significant as we allow it to be. Does time rule your day or is it something that you let slip between your fingers like sand upon a beach.
As I grow older I find time more and more significant, the less I have the more I want, which is the human condition really. I never really thought about it much as I was getting to this point but now as I talk to my children and grandchildren the idea of wasting time seems almost a capital crime and it is a crime in the end punishable by death. A slow agonizing death first of the spirit as we realize how much time we really have wasted and then the physical death to remind us we have no choice.
The line of our life begins with birth and as we know it ends with death. That line if we are lucky is the culmination of friendships and loved ones and as few mistakes as possible in between.
As we fill this space we know as life we can do so in the American way, which is as much personal freedom as we can muster or we can do so under several other systems each getting more and more different until we reach Fascism which is really just National Socialism. My preferences should be understood by now but just in case I will say it again, I am for as much personal liberty (read freedom) as possible. I choose to believe that each individual has meaning and each individual should pursue that meaning with vigor. Vigor to search for that meaning in the small amount of time we are given.
Remember that communism and socialism both believe that we as an individual are less important than the state, meaning that the states accomplishments are more important than each individual life and that each individual life can and will be sacrificed for the state.
This is the same as stating that Michelangelo’s accomplishments are the same as Hitler’s or Barack Obama’s accomplishments are the same as Maya Angelous. Those examples are made to be ridicules’ before you say to yourself that is ridicules’ but it points out the problem with the State being more important, by the way have you heard what your country has built today, nothing, nothing at all.
Anyone who will tell you that the state is more important than the individual is not asked to give themselves but rather asks you to give your life and that of your family for the state, I address this simply by stating Michelle Obama’s food program, our kids get scraps her eat gourmet meals. The sacrifice is hardly the same. Although many would argue it is or give some stupid reason as to why it should be different and then tell you that we all should be the same, although they just argued that someone was different.
Time, is that device that we measure ourselves against, each small accomplishment, each small movement forward is important to us, maybe not to other people but to ourselves and should be. Equality is not about the finish line it is about the starting line and the race is not with each other but with our own imaginations. What can I do today, what can I create today, how can I make my life better, which in turn makes everyone else’s better as we share this planet with each other. We are individuals and no matter how the state wants to categorize us or label us we always will be and maybe those differences are what makes each of us special and worth admiring. My skin color means nothing but the palette I use within my imagination is everything. My starting point means nothing it is where I finish my journey that will tell my story, it will be how we each perceive each other that will tell yours.
Today I looked at writing this small piece and I touched the hand of God as he whispers to me what to write somewhere deep in my imagination. Somewhere deep inside, we are the same and God whispers to you to.
Time, the inevitable voice of God telling each of our stories as individuals, which should tell you that within the eyes and breath of God we are supposed to be free to explore our own accomplishments, each in our own way, when this life is over my work of art will be the story I leave behind.
It is a bright cold day in April and the clocks strike 13 and this is my story, the story of a free man, the story of a man not of a color, not of the state and not of a village, this is my story and the clock strikes 13.