Lying in bed listening
to “Time” and recalling my
first listen all those years
ago when I never knew
the speed of time and
what life would be
in this accelerating age
of change and dissolution.

I, too, was young with an
innocence of the age and
now see my life from a distance
and close, moving ever nearer,
children getting older, noting
the signs and making peace
with my own restless soul.

How quickly the years have
passed, and I struggle to recall
the details of what went down,
as the moments elude my grasp,
but the picture of what I was
and where I am is so damn
clear, as I try to make sense
of what it might mean.

What would my younger self,
so full of hope for the world
and yet strangely directionless,
listening to a vinyl,
have made of where I am
and all I have achieved
and not really done?

I sit listening to “Time” and
think how timeless the music is–still
speaking to me from the psychedelic
times of my youth to the age
of total connectedness, that
might not be so connected at all.

I stand waiting for the iron bell
and wonder about moments of turning
this way or that way, and what my life
could have been if the turning was
another way, and I was dragged
along another causal path.

The music ends and I move to
sleep and wake to another day
when the sun rises and the work
begins, and I wonder where it
will take me till the sun sets again
and I go to timeless sleep.