Walking up this mountain a lot, I realized that when I walk slowly, I arrive much earlier. No kidding. And no metaphor. I mean, factually. Something seems to carry me up when I adjust myself to the timing of the forest alongside the path. It's effortless. ...and I get to witness the whole magnificent show this forest has in stall for me. A drop of resin, the perfect sunset, the first tiny flowers of spring, a beetle...
I would miss all this, make more and more tragical break(down)s, arrive exhausted and stressed or totally hyped and with a semi broken foot, if I would treat this path like the corridor between U2 and U6 at Berlin's Stadtmitte station. And I sometimes do. And it's a nightmare, created by myself, in the midst of paradise, big LOL.
It happens to me whenever time turns into a distance to overcome, something to get over with as soon as possible. I suffocate Life when I am trying to "save" time. (Save it for what? In order to lock it up in a Swiss bank account for my grandchildren to inherit?!) Same when I'm brushing my teeth. Sometimes I just think "when is this gonna end?" for 3 minutes straight while the brushes are hectically speeding through my mouth, or while washing dishes...
And there are of course things to do, I have to be alert, and also quick sometimes. I want to be productive. But it's a neoliberal conspiracy theory that one has to rush around and perform the stressed manager in order to get shit done. The opposite is true. I am slowly (!) learning that. Magic can move mountains. And true magic needs space, awareness - and time.
L. Cohen knew this. He wrote these lines:
"And flesh itself is Magic, dancing on a clock. / And time itself, the Magic length of God."
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