Slippery

When my children were little, I often reminded myself that the days were fleeting.  I tried to fix them in my mind so I would always remember what they were like, how precious they were, how sweet.  Inevitably, the memories become fuzzy until now, decades later, they are more like stories I tell myself about the memories rather than recreations.  Memory is such a slippery beast.

Now that I'm so much older and time seems to be going by so much faster, I find myself wanting again to preserve the days, fix the memories in time, as though that will make it all slow down.  I was on the deck this evening looking over the landscape, as I do from my place at the table for the many meals we eat outdoors.  The need to fix it in memory was so strong today that I actually took pictures with the camera.  But even pictures don't accomplish the real purpose.

I want to hold onto my life.  I don't want it to slip away and be over.  The older I get, at least for now, the more I want to be here and be conscious.  I spent many years escaping, even some of those years with small children. But escape holds no allure anymore.  I wish I could somehow hold it in my hands, taste it with the tip of my tongue and savor this life and all that it brings me.

Lately, I've been cultivating consciousness --- presence --- mindfulness.  My squirrel brain is quieting.  Urgency fades. Pleasure abounds, much to my surprise.  My 25-year-old self never would have believed that. Pursuit, activity, frenzy, excitement, and strong sensation were the pathways to pleasure for me then. I'm sure it's not that way for everyone.  It was for me.  It's what I needed to feel alive.

Now, aliveness comes in the moment.  This one.  The breath and scent and touch of the moment.  What amazing freedom that is tonight.