The Time Machine…

Friday 27 September

Weather:     Bright and sunny

Mood:     8/10

 

The passage of time is a funny thing. It’s also relative. Busy people don’t have enough time. Less busy people are said to ‘have time on their hands’. I particularly like this poem/psalm (Twell’s original version) which I think sums up the passage of time rather nicely:

When as a child I laughed and wept, time crept.

When as a youth I waxed more bold, time strolled.

When I became a full-grown man, time RAN.

When older still I daily grew, time FLEW.

Soon I shall find, in passing on, time gone…

Most people would be able to identify with these sentiments, myself included, but quite recently, I discovered a way to cheat time and to never grow old. I discovered a time machine!

Of course, its not really a time machine, it a common or garden bicycle, but in many ways it is.

When I climb onto my bicycle, my trusted steed, my winged chariot and start to pedal, strange things are afoot. Whether I am ‘pressed for time’ or ‘at a loose end’, the passage of time becomes irrelevant. For the briefest of moments, I feel almost child-like, and all my worries and fears blur into insignificance as the scenery glides past. Gone are the aches and pains of middle-age, and my deep-rooted anxiety is conspicuous by its absence. For these magic moments in time, cycling truly sets me free.

Today, The Cycle Path to Recovery is weaving it’s magic and for that, I am truly grateful.

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4 thoughts on “The Time Machine…

  1. when i was going through the admissions interview at the methadone clinic to which I frequent, one of the intake questions on the standardized psych/social eval is “Do you have too much time on your hands”? I couldn’t resist and so I asked my counselor who was giving the interview who the hell has too much time? he laughed and said sadly, about 25% answer yes. ill be fucking damned. one in four addicts at the clinic feel like they have too many hours in a day. unbelievable.

  2. I find time means nothing to me. I’m often not sure what day it is, letalone what time it is. I’m not sure if time goes quickly or the days drag I literally have no real concept of time except when my housemate’s alarm goes off twice a day at 9:30 and I know it’s either that time morning or night.
    I can’t say I mind, it’s almost like time doesn’t control me, I have no use for this concept of time.

    That poem is wonderful xo

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