Take 20 words chosen at random. Put them in a bowl. Draw one and write something about it.
Simple? Maybe not.
The present is that infinitely small slice of the space-time continuum in which I travel. Behind and ahead of me stretch the infinite past and future.
The size of my now cannot be measured. Scientists have put numbers on how long the continuum has been and will be. Perhaps that gives them comfort.
I have been present throughout my timeline. To simply be present does not differ from being absent. I must be actively present if I am to steer my line, even imperceptibly outward or inward, as I move forward through time.
My infinitesimally small bubble of present is expanded to include those whose lines intersect mine. To not do so is to deny those who would add meaning to my life.
My timeline is a present from the Universe. When it ends, I will present myself to the Universal Mind and hope to not be found wanting.
Either that, or that big bottle of Belgian ale I just polished off has really messed with my head.
Take 20 words chosen at random. Put them in a bowl. Draw one, and write something about it.
Simple? Maybe not.
The past is the past. That’s what they say — like the past has nothing to do with the present or the future.
There is no escaping your past. That’s another thing they say.
Everything in your past is directly connected to what you are, do and think today: whatever you were — doctor, lawyer, rodeo clown; whatever you did — saved lives, destroyed reputations, jumped in a barrel; whatever you thought — socialized medicine is bad, crime is good for business, bulls are really, really quick.
You cannot change what happened, but you can change what will happen. It’s all about controlling the uncontrollable.
So, get out there, kick your past in the ass, and take command of your life. You are large and in charge.
Unless, of course, you are in prison for life without possibility of parole because you hacked your mother-in-law to death with a carving knife in front of your entire family one Thanksgiving Day dinner. Then, you’re pretty much screwed.