Time is an illusion, albeit a persistent one.
When I was a kid, I used to believe the atomic clock was a device that measured an independent reality called “time”. That somehow, this seamless experience could be sliced into neat, self-contained units. That the past could be packaged away and the future unwrapped. Yet somehow I never managed to get to grips with daylight saving time, and I still have to count between time zones on my fingers.
All kinds of people have advised me the answer is to “be in the moment”. But that’s like being a passenger in a fast moving car and trying to look sideways at exactly where you are. Looking forward, easy. Looking backward, easy. Look sideways, and it’s a blur.
What is there, but to be in the flow of experience, including memories and plans, including dreams and imagination?
What is there but to be in the magical dance of Now, whether it flies, drags or shows itself as the illusion it is?