I was taking a walk this evening in the walking area of the complex where I live. Cool, breezy air was sweeping my face and hair, evening was just setting in, children were playing around making happy sounds, young mothers were gathering around to chit-chat with each other. The sky wore a pensive look, as though it was finishing the last bit of chore before going off to sleep. The trees looked sombre in unison against the grey backdrop of the sky.
I was listening to a nice soft piece of music which sang about the past in a lilting tone …….. As I was walking alone, I had this sudden urge to talk to people who were far away from me. To talk to them, to ask them how they were, to share with them what was happening my life, to just hear their voices, to connect with people who were a part of me. Usually, in these moments the first person I think of is my daughter and I knew she was busy at the moment.
What happened thereafter was a bit strange. I just let myself go to imagine all the people I wished to talk to; immediately some five or six faces floated around in my mind and then I realised, they are all dead and gone long time ago.
My heart ached as I started to converse with them in my head – me as I am in my present and they as they were, in their past. As I was having these imaginary conversations, I realised that my real ache was not that they were not alive, but that I was not with them, as though my home belonged with them.
This brought me back to my present and I wondered whether this is what I do most of the time, look at the present as transient, either a continuation of the past or a pathway to the future? Either way, the present moment then does not exist for itself, it exists for what was and for what could be.
What do I do with the present then? Do I even know when I am in it?
Does it happen to you? What do you do with your present?