It was much easier for ancestors, primarily dealing with day and night, the phases of the moon, and the seasons. But then someone had to invent the infernal clock. Now, we're down to things like Instagram, running our daily lives and atomic clocks parsing time into minutia for our delight.
We invented this thing called time. We needed a sense of measure, I guess. How much more, we ask. That much less, we answer. For as your well chosen words express, to live without time would be to just be. My...what a concept. Kudos.
So much anguish, Michael. I think our forefathers let Calvin define a Latin term, carpe, as an enslaving aggressive word, a means of compelling a populace to work at dreary unpleasant tasks. Others have put forth a different connotation, 'enjoy' rather than 'seize' ... seen this way, our dance need not be so dreaded ...
Making every day, every minute, second count is a juggling act and one most of us are not equipped to deal with. If we can just get through life without harming anymore we can count on our lives as being successful.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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I'm enjoying every minute of it…
Ron