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In Passing’s Present Tense[1]

The Present becomes a Moving Stillness – an Eternal

Stream from which neither I nor Anything can Deviate[2]

All that thou canst call thine Own lies in the Word “Today!”[3]

Love flows from the Receptivity of Presence – Aliveness and Creativity Flower when we

Inhabit the Openness of Presence – all that we Cherish is already Here, Sourced in Presence[4]

The Present Lands on me with so many different Aspects I cannot establish any Succession –

Splitting myself into as many myselves as there are Bits of the Present that are Dumped on me[5]

The Secret is here in the Present – if you pay Attention to the Present, you can Improve upon it[6]

Consciousness Darts back and forth in time like a Weaver and can Occupy, when busy

With its Mysterious Self-Formings and Self-Gatherings, a very large Specious Present[7]

It’s Today that Counts and not Tomorrow – and the flow of Time Pauses Briefly[8]

There is no Hand may Stop the Sand from Flowing fast away, but

His who Turns the whole Glass down and Dreams ‘tis All Today[9]

Time is Different Here – here it is Always Year One[10]

[1] Katharine Coles, A Dog In Time

[2] Alan Watts, This Is It

[3] Sarah Doudney, The Water Mill

[4] Tara Brach, True Refuge

[5] Italo Calvino tr. Martin McLaughlin, Shells and Time

[6] Paulo Coelho tr. Alan R. Clarke, The Alchemist

[7] Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince

[8] Primo Levi tr. Ruth Feldman & Brian Swann, Memorandum Book

[9] John Bennett, Her Answer

[10] Ursula K. Le Guin, Coming of Age in Karhide

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