Sand In An Hour Glass

Sand in an hour glass cares not if it’s In a rush. It does not alter course to accommodate an artificial unit of keeping track of passing moments that refuse to be contained. Your schedule is a hinderance made to limit you to chain you to a decision to do something you can’t do: know how you will exist in a state of later. Time is wise, it must be, for it knows it does not exist yet it is bowed down to on a daily, momentary, weekly, monthly, yearly basis. Time never liked all the attention and usually it’s admirers didn't care much for giving it, but they’re late to family dinner and their mother may not let them in if only a minute later than when they discussed it must be. Sand grains in an hour glass have no sense of which one will go next, will it be them or will their chance be snatched by someone who wants their spot at the bottom of the glass, the side they haven’t been to yet, though it’s identical to that which they’re familiar with. As the sand sits , eventually the final grain falls and with a sense of fulfilling their purpose, they get merely a moment of rest before they’re turned on their heads and they begin again. The human who flipped it, frantic, is fearing that they’ll miss it, whatever seemingly important yet truthfully minuscule and menial event. They’re better off if they lose all sense of time, take between one to thirty two rewarding breaths and repeat these words, “I need not do anything.” Trust me, patience and being here in the moment brings things quicker then planning and demanding everyone sticks to the script you’ve written yet aren’t directing, producing, or even being cast in, because you’re not here with us, you’re a fragment of yourself in sometime next year according your calendar. Remember this, grains of Sand in an hour glass know nothing of timing, yet they’re perfectly punctual every time.