I was sitting at a river today. It was unnaturally still...reflecting the mountains to the north, the forest to the south and west, the canyon to the east. I was sitting atop a stone at the shore of the lake--where the sun was casting a golden shadow onto the unmoving surface of the water.
The ghosts of the past are with us still. The ghosts of the present and of the future haunt us to our death. Near that unnatural stillness of the lake, I finally heard what I had been wanting to hear for so long--the echoes of the past.
The ghosts sing of the time before now, what they call history. Even though an eerie silence hung in the air, I heard it. The music was deafening and absolutely quiet. It was loud and boisterous, yet timid and weak. This is the song of the past. Something that has already happened, one tune along one track.
The ghosts sing of the time after now, what they call future. Even though that same silence was still in the air, I heard it. The music was confusing, uncertain, skittering from melody to melody. This is the song of the future. Something that is yet to happen, many tunes along many tracks, branching out to millions of many other tunes.
The ghosts sing of the time right now, what they call present. Sitting here, at this eerie stillness, I could hear the tune. This moment, encased in time forever, part of the music all around us. This moment, trapped like a fly in amber. It is what is happening now. And though it may seem like nothing is happening, it is. The sun slowly makes its way around our tiny earth.
Past, Future, and Present are three sisters, each on their separate instruments, playing at the three ends of Time, their father. But here, at this lake, they meet and make their different melodies into one.
What Was, What Is, What Shall. Those are the three parts of Time. Past, Future, and Present.
Here, we shall here the song of Time...we are hearing the song of Time...we were hearing the song of Time. We are always hearing the song of Time.
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