#238: Making Time By Going Slow

This piece evokes my memory of the magic times in my life when I’ve created, or stumbled upon, space to create art. In my youth, art was about me relating to a separate object: an instrument, a song, a play. Now, I find the magic of art in becoming aware of being conscious in each moment, and filling it with kindness, joy, and curiosity. Sometimes that’s in conversation and interaction with other humans, other times it’s solo work spent in one’s own hermetic sphere. Being outdoors in nature usually helps me access it quicker. 

When I’m in a group, I sometimes recognize the magic is happening by how quiet the sound of my ticking mental clock becomes, and how I seem to be able to feel when it’s the right time to speak, and my mouth, having less connection with my brain and more with the shared spirit of conversation, finds the right words to say.

Thanks, Jaime. I hope to continue discovering “eternities of living” in my life.

 - Corey

Making Time By Going Slow

Summer in the Woods 

The stiller I become the more I can see.

Red dragon flies, ruby meadowhawks... hundreds, 

hovering like helicopters above a surface of green

Before they join the dance with one another 

In circular patterns around the pond. 

Bumble Bees 

To and fro white flowers. 

A bull frog or two. Spotted by sound. 

A northern flicker. 

Common grackles. 

American robins. 

Black northern water snakes

A bit scary if stumbled upon by surprise 

Yet, too, sly and sultry in her ways

Seducing me to be a bit more like them.

A yellow jacket that might sting

but I stand by breathing calm and curious 

and she says hell 

and saunters away. 

My own two feet.

I place them quietly and consciously. 

My mind drifting between restful appreciation 

and tiny glimmers of ideas and inspirations…

Write more. 

Come and walk and sit and breathe and notice and give thanks 

and then write. Everyday. 

Let it come to you, 

from you, 

up and out. 

Set it free. Set you free. 

Even if only for the joy of it- it's enough. 

But, too, I know very well that 

it's also for the healing... for the freedom. 

My gift is my duty. My dharma. 

Everything comes when I'm awake in the stillness. 

When I take a moment to feel that I am alive. 

Sunlight and shadows. 

Brilliance in contrast. 

Colors and shades. Mostly green, blue, and black. 

Reeds. Wind. A distant lawn mower. 

Bullfrogs. An airplane. 

A bee hum. A fly. 

Ideas talk. My pen writes. 

When five minutes are up 

I'm aware of lifetimes of not paying attention. 

And, so, I've gained eternities of living 

in just a fraction of time.