Waiting for the Time
Once upon a time there was a young girl — very pretty and intelligent, too. She lived in a beautiful house with loving parents in a very safe community by the sea. On the surface that everyone could see, everything seemed to be perfect. However underneath it wasn’t at all. Internally our very pretty and intelligent little girl felt a growing sense of dissatisfaction with her life. While she was totally secure in this safe attractive city by the sea, with a mother, who was willing to do anything for her and a father who loved her dearly, somehow for some reason, like her sister before her, she needed more. Although her friends and relatives said that she had it made, she craved adventure, excitement, maybe a little danger, and of course some romance and passion, perhaps even a touch of heartbreak and emotional suffering, which seems to always accompany the good times. Pain and pleasure in equal measure — is the way the expression goes. In short she was ready to push on to the Edge of Chaos — out from inside the Comfort Zone — which, quite frankly, was putting her to sleep.
The more she thought about it the more restless she became. She began daydreaming about how exciting life would be once she left the confines of her comfortable world which had trapped her. The more her Mind drifted into these fantasies of release the more she began to hate her safe, secure environment as a Prison, that was keeping her from flying like a bird. She began to plan her escape.
But much to her chagrin, the Universe shouted to her from the bottom of the Void: “Wait!”
Reluctantly understanding the suggestion, she returned to the duties that were expected of her — accepting her fate — at least for the duration of her sentence. Dreaming of the next world — when the Doors to her Cage would be opened and she would be set free — helped her tolerate the excruciating safety that was anesthetizing her passion.
Most of the time anyway.
Our little girl — growing bigger by the day — as children tend to do — was now a beautiful and perceptive young lady. Still the urge to break free from her mental straight jacket wouldn’t go away. Instead it had intensified. Leaving home fantasies began crystallizing and the need to escape became unbearable. The preparations for immediate departure began again.
Then ringing again from the clouds came the Little Voice booming out the hated word: “Wait!”
Her growing frustration peaking, she raised her fist to the sky in a sign of defiance to her Jailer.
But still came back that one syllable that she dreaded to hear, “Wait!”
“But wait for what?” she yelled back at the top of her whisper.
“For the Sign.”
“Sign? What Sign?”
“The Sign that it’s Time.”
Although again she reluctantly understood, she said, “Time?”
Universe: “The Time to Move, of course.”
“But I’m ready now. I need to follow my passion, my bliss, my urge, my calling.”
“But how will I recognize this Sign?”
“You will know. You will feel it in the belly of your Soul. It will be like a deep bass drum -reverberating up from the bottom of the earth — the church bells ringing across the town — calling you to your mission — your Destiny.”
“But I hear that Voice now.”
“Deep down, you don’t.”
She growled and grumbled.
“It’s not Time. You must Wait.”
Again she raised her fist in fury — but then plopped down dejectedly on the couch — knowing that her Inner Voice had spoken the truth.
So our young lady began waiting and waiting and waiting for the Sign. The Time seemed to stretch out into eternity. It seemed as if this waiting would never end. Those surrounding her told her how lucky she was to be so talented and smart with so many people loving and caring for her. However it was so excruciating in her mental cage that she began to doubt.
“If this was the last year of my life on earth would I stay here? Seize the Moment. He who hesitates is lost.”
All of these thoughts battered around her Mind, torturing her with indecision.
“What if there is no Sign? What if I’m deluding myself? Maybe the Little Voice that I heard so clearly was actually the Voice of the Devil rather than the Voice of God. Or maybe the Universe is just playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse. Or maybe the real Divine Voice is speaking to me from my dissatisfaction — telling me to leave, but I am just afraid to listen. How will I really know? Perhaps Now is the Time.”
“Not yet!” the Universe boomed out from the midst of quietude. “You must wait for the Time to ripen.”
“But how will I know when the Time is Ripe?”
“You will feel it in the pit of your stomach.”
“But I want to go now!”
“If you go before its time — your fruit will not ripen properly. It will become bitter and inedible. You will be doomed to misery.”
After flashing a lightening bolt from her eyes, our impatient young heroine took a deep breath and clenched her fists and teeth.
“I need something more,” she growled in an ancient language that even alarmed and offended the birds.
The Universe, a bit frightened, said: “Listen, here is a Clock. When its Alarm goes off, this is a warning that the Time is nigh. It will ring when the two hands join.”
So our exquisite but dissatisfied young lady began watching this clock, waiting for the Alarm to go off to let her know that the Time was at hand.
But the time passed — ever more slowly. The hands didn’t seem to move regularly at all. First the big hand would seem to be on the verge of overtaking the other, then it would slow to the pace of growing grass — and the small one would move ahead. In the midst of her agony, it seemed as if her clock would never ring. Around and around went the arms of her time piece with nary a small tinkle.
She began to read many books which reflected her inner estrangement.
“Am I being punished for a crime that I wasn’t even aware I committed. A stranger lost in an alien world. Stranded by my real parents. Isolated from myself. Am I one of the lost ones, who never really finds their way home. Where is the peace? Why all this mental torment? What have I done wrong?”
But no matter how much our young lady read she found no answers. Only more questions. Only more turmoil. But no peace.
“Have I spent my Life in vain?” railed our young lady. “Is this some cruel ruse designed by a demented Universe to drive me crazy?”
Although she ranted and raged against the stagnant pond that she seemed to be stuck in, yet somehow she knew deep down that she must obey the Little Voice that she had heard so clearly in the middle of the night. So she continued to wait for the Grand Drama that in her heart she knew would come.
Sometimes after raging in her delirium she would fall asleep in front of her clock — head on her arms — ever hopeful that the arms of Time would embrace. And then the heavens would sing. She would recognize the Sign and she could leave her realm of suffering. She waited and suffered and suffered some more. Waiting for the phone to ring — hoping that it was him, her Prince Charming with news that it was Time at last for her date with Destiny.
When she began to doubt, she looked at her clock again, as the hands moved ever closer — hoping against hope that this was not some bizarre fantasy rather an opportunity pregnant with possibilities.
Then one day, while rummaging around she discovered a sailing ship amidst the mess. Simultaneously she heard the clock alarm go off, just a little bell — but something nevertheless. And although her Ship was small, she knew deep down in the pit of her stomach that the Universe was sending her a Sign that her time was coming very soon.
Many told her, “That sail boat is too small to take you anywhere. After all it is only a toy. It is a ship for fools.” Or “You need to stay with your loving parents a while longer. You’ve got it so good. Why would you ever want to leave on such a tiny ship. It will be so difficult. You will suffer when you could be so comfortable.”
And another: “You say this ship was sent by the Universe, how superstitious. You must make your own way. Force the issue. Waiting is only for the timid and weak.
The Wave of Destiny is just an illusion created by the Mind. Make your move. Rely on yourself.”
But our reluctant heroine smiled coyly, because she knew that if you obey the Universe that anything is possible. She wanted to catch the Wave that would take her Everywhere, rather than take the false step that would just take her Somewhere.
She returned to her clock — but now there were two. That tricky Universe was multiplying her impatience. She watched and waited, but then fell asleep again.
She found herself inside the Jail — the bars of which were made of her mother and father, her safe and secure city by the sea, and the reflection of herself waiting before her multiplying clocks.
She cried to the solitary wind: “When, oh when, will I be able to escape my jail?”
The wind sucked all the air from her prison.
“I feel as if I’m suffocating. I’m certainly going to die.”
“That’s the only way!” roared the Silence.
And then this Emptiness began stripping off her skin.
“Aiieeee!” she screamed.
“Don’t be such a baby. We’re just sanding the surface of your Self — polishing the Mirror of your Mind — breaking off your attachments to the cell, which confines the Person you think your Self to be.”
The Emptiness continued his work.
Our young lady screamed some more.
“You imagine this process to be worse than it is. When you are smooth and clear enough, you will become invisible to your Jailer, who is yourself. Then, and only then, you will be able to squeeze through the cracks of your cage and sail away on your little boat to adventure, excitement, romance, pain and pleasure. Your trust and patience will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagining. This way you will be light and lean enough to catch my Wave, rather getting stuck riding the puny little ripple of your puddle.”
At last our Divine Force finished his work. Our young lady’s skin fell off and she emerged as a luminous spirit — an Eye with Wings. She immediately soared off into the Stratosphere — never looking back — her Gaze fixed one pointedly on the Star.
Upon waking from her delirious sleep she understood at last. Disappearing from this world and appearing in the next — she slipped through the cracks of her cage. She only wept because she had to leave her clocks behind. She had grown quite fond of them, but they were just too fat. And as she glided effortlessly on to her ship — her clocks began ringing their good-bye. Like an organ reverberating through a cathedral, the angels sang. And our little girl, who had become a young lady, knew that it was the Time at Last. She set sail for a new shore with many adventures in store.
Those who remained only heard her fading voice singing:
“Kalu, Kalai! Hip, Hip, Hooray!
Free at last. The suffering is past.
The waiting was agony, but I gained endless possibility.
Although I ranted and raved, I caught the Universal wave.
Kalu, Kalai! Hip, Hip, Hooray!
Free at last. The suffering is past. …”
Tears, silently dripping from the corners of the eyes,
Betraying the smile’s lies,
As the child’s freedom is the parent’s pain -
A cycle repeated over and over again.
Reflecting upon the grand times, what a stall.
The tides rise and fall.
We had such fun.
But the dying light of the Moon retreats below the horizon.