There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to be conscious – to feel, to actually notice what’s going on around me

And so when I’m not looking, it sneaks around behind me and steps into me, putting his hands inside my hands.

When I can’t find a way to say what I want to say as I write, he takes over, gets up and smokes a cigarette.

When I don’t know what to do with my discomfort and anxiety at the great work project in front of me, he rescues me, and I turn to Facebook and divulge myself of the responsibility of feeling myself.

When I can’t find a way to be with the grief and longing in my heart, he steps in swiftly and feeds me cheesecake and pasta, and all the feelings melt away in culinary overwhelm.

These are my time disruptors. They are the crutches of my attention. The habits that I can always lean on when the present moment becomes something I want no part of.

The magnificence of the moment hides itself from me as I look for solace out in the future, that imagined reality where I will finally have resolved all my problems. Or in the memories of the past, where I look for the reasons I can’t find what I’m now looking for.

All the while, the gift of this moment goes unclaimed.

I’m sorry sweetheart, I neglect you don’t I?

And then there it is, the utterly simple beauty of noticing now. The way the candle flame flickers and reminds me that time is moving. The miracle of a roof, and a glass of wine, and the fact I get to spend my time writing things like this.

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Ewan Townhead

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