I loose track of the calendar sometimes. As I grow older I find it easier to believe that a person could lose track of how old they are. I never used to believe those stories about the older generations not being quite sure how old they were. And yet I find myself forgetting my physical age as I practice being. Being present for the moment seems to melt the solidity of the past in ways I can't quite grasp. As though tracking time is what gives it it's reality, but living through it does not.
How does it happen that living in the moment, living in the now, causes time to slip by so much more quickly? In my head these very deep (too deep?) thoughts are followed by that song from Fiddler on the Roof. You know the one:
"Sunrise, Sunset, Sunrise...
"Swiftly fly the years,
|"One season following another,|
|"Laden with happiness and tears."|
The melody loops in my head picking up lyrics randomly and truly: "I don't remember growing older, When did they...