What time is it?

The long days of summer have begun. I suppose it was about time perhaps, as it is the first week of July. This is the first week that my kids are working longer hours at summer camp and my grad student daughter leaves the house at 6:30 a.m. — pops in for a half hour lunch then is off again in grad school until 7:00 p.m  — sits down for a bit of dinner and then is busy at her computer with hours of homework for class … a very long day indeed.

For me the house is dauntingly quiet until my husband wakes up at Noon. And then it is only a the sound of a frantically barking dog excited to see another face after spending hours asleep on my lap as I waited for the morning crud to pass. It’s not until 2 p.m. when my teens come home that actual banter and badinage begins.

For me the morning stillness brings with it cellular memories of being an only child.  Though Mom often called it lonely child … And I did spend hours upon hours hauled up in my room. Waiting for something to shift, hoping for better days ahead, always watching the clock and doing the math … X hours until Dad comes home, or this many minutes until Mom goes to class.  Back then my sense of time was strangely woven into my understanding of how long one “I Love Lucy” show was.  So I new the passing of time as … “Dinner will be ready in two I Love Lucy shows.”  In my own way always watching the clock and waiting for the future to come.

Doing the math is my downfall. Watching the clock has always been a sign that I was upset. Even in my career as I tried to hold out and push this disordered body through one more committee meeting … I would watch the clock on my cell phone. “Only another hour to go”, I would think to myself. “If I left now, I still attended the important parts.” I tried to convince my ego. But most of the time I plodded through, trying my best and often failing, to keep my mouth shut during the discussion as to not make the agenda drag out any longer.

In college one of my professors told a story about a group of miners that were trapped underground. Only one had a watch and he became the official time keeper. “What time is it?” The other captives would ask. “Oh half past 2.” The man replied, when in truth it was much later than that. He always told the crew that less time had passed than had actually elapsed, because he knew they would be anxious with limited oxygen supplies and a diminished hope for rescue. But rescue did come, and all of the miners were found alive … Accept the time keeper. As the analysis went, he died of the stress of knowing how much time had actually passed.

I was in my early 20’s when I heard this story and decided that day I would take off my little gold tone wrist watch and forego being the official time keeper for the universe.

When my daughter was born, I began to become concerned about my lack of sleep and the numerous times we awoke each night. As a fix, I removed the night stand clock and vowed not to do the math. I would sleep when she slept (which ment going to bed at 7 pm at times) and wake up with her to nurse and play all through out the night until morning came. It worked wonderfully. Her Dad and I would turn on the VCR and catch glimpses of TV as he changed diapers, or snacked on microwaveable chocolate cake. It was like time became meaningless. It was always just NOW.

Over the years, clocks have snuck back into my consciousness. The microwave has a clock, as does the oven right below it (set about a didigt different from each other for at least 10 seconds for every minute). All of our cell phones have clocks, the DVD player has the time, our DISH network receiver has a digital display, my heart rate monitor has a watch, our laptops have the time and the list goes on. It seems every electronic devise in its dormant mode is set to display the passing of time.

In fact last night I had a dream that I was walking across campus in my former academic life, and just then my heart rate monitor battery died.  In the dream, I stopped and looked frantically for a watch battery to place inside and found all of these odd shaped lithium coin cells in my purse but none the one that I needed.  I remember waking up breathless at the frustration experienced in the dream state.

So here I am again … Doing the math. Three hours until my husband wakes up, five hours until the kids come home, seven plus before my housemate returns, ten hours until my eldest comes home for dinner.

If my body was stronger this morning, I could do some chores or busy my mind with a project. But these are the ‘waiting hours’. Where the pain is awake, the body is weak and the mind is filled with unproductive thought streams. I glance at the clock. I feel a tear slowly swell and moisten the edge of my eye. The June Gloom of southern California seasonal weather pattern has slipped into July and the sky is thick with overcast clouds. The cold damp air feels a bit like what I imagine the trapped miners felt underground.

I could wait …. And watch the clock. Or in this moment I can sit Zazen in the silence of an empty mind eternally in the NOW.

~Om~

Time is only relevant when we are in the middle of a story. Outside the drama … There is only this breath. Another tear forms in my eye as bliss and joy replace the need to know — What time is it?  And slowly the story fades away.