With words that flow like thunder I beckon to thee. Because what I say here is of profound import. Let me grab a moment of your attention as I weave these words into your consciousness. The time is at hand for you to become aware of that which you may not be aware of.
You know that time is an irreducible object that goes past those which traverse it. The question that lies should not delve deeper into it, but to you, the one who rides it. Its waves beckon to those who ponder and its value is not lost on those who know of its import, but today I am asking you, "What have you done with it?"
Have you ever watched a flower bloom, whilst your calling beckons?
Have you ever stopped and unambiguously considered precisely what you have done with it?
Premium SponsorMaybe you have, but then again, maybe you haven't. To those who have, consider yourselves blessed in knowing that you have placed some time in considering it. To those who haven't, know that there are those who barely had enough of it, to witness it but for a fleeting moment.
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It is you, the ultimate progenitor of your will who can alter it.
The most reckless and the most prudent means of approaching it would be to say that you have laid claim to a title which is something we would not care about later on.
You may be a lawyer, a doctor, an accountant or an engineer and yet be reduced to as small as a bucket of dust when time has laid its finger and called upon you to shed all that you perceive yourself to be.
Be conscious of it for a moment and the moment does not linger. Then you say that you do not have it. But what have you that is so plentiful yet so fleeting that you do not take the time to ponder it?
What have you done with your time!?
Why is it taking you so long to constantly prod on?
What is there in the world that would force you to constantly pursue something, knowing that in time, it is actually nothing?
As with all matters that pertain to the consciousness, time does not exist where there is an existence to grab hold of it. It is that fleeting gift like a sand hourglass slowly dripping away to that realm of wanton disregard.
Stop writing about life, when life is supposed to be lived.
To see the world you have created. The shackles that you have worn, are merely created by none other than yourself.
By taking the time, to provoke, to see, to acknowledge and to be aware of, what it is that really merits your time. That momentary smile, that whiff of cold or warm air that you so longingly wish for. The constraints that man has built upon himself will slowly reduce him to ashes.
Stop writing about life, because it is best lived.