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 sit for a long time in the absolute silence. All at once, there is barely a perceptible noise, a soft rumble as of thunder. The sound dies without discovery of its nature or source. It returns, seeming to come from all directions at once. At last it emerges from its mystery, grows into a tremulous hum, and solidifies into chanting. The music has no tempo. There is no breathing audible in it. No one voice stands out; it is the fusion of all that produces the effect. Long held notes which at last modulate again and again in the calm rhythm of the heart. I am suspended in the sound. And charged. ... The chanting dies away as gently as it began. Once again there is the unanimous voice of silence.
~ "Taking the World In For Repairs" by Richard Selzer
