Time as objective reality has never made much sense to me. It's what happens that matters. How can minutes and years, devices of our own creation, mean the same thing to gnats and to cedars? Two hundred years is young for the trees whose tops this morning are hung with mist. It's an eyeblink of time for the river and nothing at all for the rocks...
If there is meaning in the past and in the imagined future, it is captured in the moment. When you have all the time in the world, you can spend it, not on going somewhere, but on being where you are. So I stretch out, close my eyes, and listen to the rain.
I sat in the cafeteria alone wallowing in the quiet. I didn't realize how much I missed being silently alone. This place is full of noise. Hard noises and constant noises. Prison is full of people, angry people and people afraid, but always people crowded in rooms and herded like cattle from place to place. I sat down in the cafeteria and closed my eyes and felt God in the silence. I stayed there until they made me leave.
