The Crocodile at the Gate.

Days are passing.

Ticking of the clock. Calendar. Bingo card.

Keeping count. Tracking. Organizing time as if it actually exists.

I'll meet you in the eternal now. Over by that corner of the Milky Way.

Is it helpful?  To hear the ticking?

Like Captain Hook in Peter Pan. Time following you around in the belly of a crocodile. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Judging you.

Reminding you.

Nagging you.

How would it feel to live in the eternal now?

Here.

Here.

Here.

Now.

Now.

Now.

I know smarter beings than I have pondered these thoughts. Raised these questions. Maybe even figured it all out.

Or felt it out.

Unable to squeeze it through the tiny hole of language.

But this is my experience.

And I get to reckon with it fresh.

Learn it.

Forget it.

Learn it again.

I wonder if relearning gets faster.

Like music.

Like language.

"From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen.."

I am nearly done with my motherly and wifely duties for the day.

Nearly.

I made food. I cleaned. I talked to my child. Taught her to crochet. Laughed with her. Joked with her.

Helped my husband sail the boat.

Fed the cats.

Rinsed the cloth.

Grilled the meat.

Since 6:30 this morning I have been doing things.

I don't mind.

I really don't.

I even saw dolphins swimming with the boat today.

I don't mind anything I do.

For what would I be doing otherwise?

How would I fill my days?

Busy busy busy.

Work. Work. Work.

Keep busy and carry on.

Because if you stop, the thoughts creep in.

They knew that all along.

Idle hands make for devil's work, they used to say.

But we solved that problem.

We industrialized distraction.

Now every citizen gets a complimentary wheel.

A little hamster wheel with Bluetooth.

Syncs automatically to your phone.

Tracks your progress.

Awards badges.

Outstanding wheel usage this quarter.

Born a farmer and you'll spend your life pulling carrots from the earth.

Born in the modern world and you'll spend your life pulling versions of yourself from the void.

But when the belly is full and the dishes are washed and the washing machine hums its little hymn to civilization...

When all the busy work is done for you...

The thoughts creep in…

Quick!

Go for a walk.

Read a book.

Watch a movie.

Call a friend.

Eat a cake.

Bang a neighbor.

Get your nails done.

Buy a new dress.

Learn Italian.

Whatever.

There are plenty of options in the fabulous modern world.

Hell, you can watch shorts for six hours and call it education.

Have a job for eight hours a day?

Even better.

Brand awareness.

Cross-platform engagement.

Stakeholder alignment.

It's important.

It's meaningful.

It's urgent.

Need to drive your kid to dance, music, soccer, programming, crochet, Mandarin, underwater basket weaving?

Even better.

Fantastic.

Look.

We just used up twelve hours.

Easy.

Order takeout. Take a nice long shower.

10-step skin care routine for your aging face.

Yoga three times a week.

Color your grays.

Maybe a massage because you deserve it.

You are doing well.

An hour with your husband and Netflix before bed.

True crime.

Reality dating shows.

A documentary about octopuses narrated by a British man with a trustworthy voice.

The day is done.

And you did so much.

So much life lived.

Good job.

But wait. Something feels off.

What if it wasn't enough?

You forgot to check off your full list.

Need to do better tomorrow.

Lost that extra ten minutes staring into space.

Zoned out, immobile.

The question almost surfaced.

Almost.

Need to stay busier.

Get more done.

Live to the fullest.

Don't waste a day.

I'm nearly done with my duties today.

What else would I do with my time?

Just sit?

Eyes closed?

Doing nothing?

If I meditate, at least I'm doing something.

Improving.

Optimizing consciousness.

Balancing my nervous system.

Reducing inflammation.

Polishing the soul.

Getting premium enlightenment.

No ads.

Monthly subscription available.

But just sitting?

Just sitting there like a stone that has accepted its fate?

No mantra.

No app.

No measurable outcome.

No pie chart.

No progress report.

Nothing to report from the front lines.

That feels suspicious.

Almost irresponsible.

It feels restless to do nothing.

How does one rest in nothing?

How does one sit still while the crocodile keeps ticking?

And so we watch time… ticking away…

Hours.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

They say boredom and monotony are gifts of civilization.

Proof that you are no longer fighting to survive.

Maybe.

Or maybe the fight just got weirder.