In the Moment

It is said that one should live in the "now" - a piece of advice easier said than done.

“At some point you just have to let go of what you thought should happen and live in what is happening.”

“You have to let go of the past, in order to live in the present.”

“Don’t let the past steal your present.”

 

Words of wisdom, quotes, pieces of advice you consume by the dozen -  no, buy the ton - in order to fill the gaping hole in your chest that mesmerizes you with its brutal reality, its unquestionable finality, and through which you do exactly what the well-meaning sages, healers, gurus and saviors of mankind tell you not to do: peer into the past, looking for answers.

 

Whenever you manage to tear your attention away from that black hole, that vacuum, that terrifying void in your core, you search the horizon of the future for auspicious signs that promise a restoration of what caused the cannon-ball sized opening in your center in the first place.

 

You can go on like this for weeks, for months. As a matter of fact, you imagine that this is what your life is going to be like for the rest of your miserable days. But, survival is an instinct, and after a while - a long while - something shifts inside of your damaged, tormented, soul and you realize that you can no longer ignore that faint whisper that has been trying to get your attention for a long time now saying, “You have to let go…you have to stop wallowing in your pain…or it will literally eat you up and destroy you.”

 

You hear the words, this cry for help emanating from the depths your own being, but you still wait, because - as another wise saying tells us, “Hope dies last.” And it will die. Every unread or unanswered message, every day that starts and ends with the deafening silence of indifference screaming at you is a nail in the coffin of your hope. Eventually, you can smell death seeping out of your every pore, and whenever you manage to face yourself in the mirror you see a ghost.

 

Then, you do what people do when they panic: run. You run as fast and as far as possible. You get in your car and drive as fast and as far as possible -- away from anything that could “trigger” a memory. You tell yourself to “be in the moment” so you force your eyes to look at the valley slumbering under a blanket of early-morning clouds. A part of you perceives and interprets this sight as beautiful, peaceful, poetic and pleasant, but you are so detached from it that no feeling is aroused in you.

 

You must focus on the road ahead - literally. But, every prop on this cosmic stage becomes a metaphor, and reminds you of what you want to forget. A flock of white pigeons against a gray sky are your thoughts flying toward the object of your desire. The slow-moving arms of a windmill are the nonstop movement of your thoughts that spin around and no matter how fast they move, no matter how long they remain in motion, they go nowhere. The highway is the long axon of a nerve cell, and you yourself are the electric current that carries a message. Only, this message cannot get through; the synaptic gap has become wider than the Grand Canyon, and it cannot be bridged. The other nerve cell is not receptive to your message.

 

As you ponder these things and the importance of being “in the moment” you realize that you just missed your exit on the highway. This makes you wonder: perhaps this proves the wise men right, since you clearly were not “in the moment” when you missed your exit.

 

Or it could mean that your entire world and your entire existence have already been reduced to one “moment” which is without beginning or end, which you cannot escape, because time has stopped for you, and there’s nothing in your world, no cloud, no bird, no mountain, and no valley, that does not remind you of her, and that there is nothing that is not her.

 

You stop running. You close your book of quotes. You look at your chest, at the gaping hole that is still there, as big and scary as ever. But this time, when you look through it, you see the dazzlingly beautiful blue water of the sea, and some boats floating on the edge of the horizon. You remember how this sight used to make you feel; you actually remember having feelings. In this moment of silence you hear the tiny whisper inside again saying, “It’ll be alright…it’ll be alright…one day it’ll be alright.”

 

Author's Note

This is not a story, but more of an essay.

Reviews

[Seth Cason]

This is my first review, and though today I haven't had the chance to pause long enough to study others' reviews to get a gist of their formatting, I had to write something after reading this piece. It hits so close to home, I can relate so easily to your words that it's almost like reading one of my own journal entries. I lost way too much time trying to practice "living in the moment," and each time I walked away from the event unable to remember anything.
I'll see myself out before I address the Book of Quotes in an obnoxious ALL CAPS TIRADE-- my God, I'm sorry.
Otherwise, I want to thank you for writing this, especially the ending. I've got to condition myself to relax and realize that storms are temporary despite what's written in the all-caps chyron looping through the Fox News Subliminal affiliate looping through my head.

Well done,
Seth

[Laz K.]

Thank you for reading and taking the time to respond. I had to reread my own writing.g to remind myself what I was trying to communicate at the time. It was...is a dark place where these thoughts came from. To know that you understand is a great consolation. Thanks again. :)