On Not Rushing

ON NOT RUSHING 

There's a great pleasure to be had by not rushing, instead, taking each and every moment that comes.

I move foward, cautiously. No hurry. Hurrying days are past. Each moment is delicious. I want to savour every morsel of my time, be in the moment, not letting the seconds slip past unnoticed.

Later, I want to remember that a solitary bird sang it's morning welcome, that the sky was unwelcoming gray and the room chilled despite this being an English Summer's day.

Soon I shall break the night's fast with very British cornflakes, despite the fact that they are American, and have a very English cup of tea, which is really not English at all.

I do not rush, but saunter, my way to the bus stop and wait. The bus takes me, unhurriedly, to its station. From which I walk at a reasonable pace to the train station, and there wait to board the train to the intermediary station, and board a second train, to the city.

There are, and will be, a thousand and one things of which I shall not be aware. My consciousness is limited. My mind starved and only permitted imagination piqued by my senses. There are things I truely cannot know like, for instance, the heart of another, save for those things existing within in my miniscule world. My personal world.

After exiting the train I sedatly saunter to the below ground rail, patiently wait for a presenting carriage, change carriages and, when appropriate, alight at my destination. On that solitary journey I quell any and all expectations. My breath not uneasy. Journeying, I settle my concerns,  breathe easily and present myself rested.

When there my heart does not flutter, nor my pulse race. I remain calm, unhurried, suited for the moment. In the moment, being authentically there, I have no concerns for past or present. 

However, the sight of her momentarily disturbs my equilibrium. I sense a brief unease, a gladdening, and then it is gone. She is a poem. I struggle with my feelings. Om Mani Padme Hum. Breathe. Remember to breathe.

The day disappears. We are together and the world continues without us. I know nothing of the sun, the breeze, blooming flowers, sky transversing avifauna. All I see is her. All I hear is her. I am enraptured. Mind taken.  A golum. Now there is no rush, for we are the moment.

Eating, walking, are in the dream that we share. Even parting, travelling, all are performed automatically. The next morning I awake and realise that I am solitary once again. But the memory sustains. At times I am preoccupied. Wishes, hopes, dreams willing me to invest in speculation. I do not rush into that folly, but relax, smile and praise whichever celestial benign being for their momentary kindness, and I do not rush.