Every Sunday I keep remembering the time of separation. From that moment so hard that marked our lives forever. But time is relative, a convention. I am in Pakistan and here now are 11 am but in Brazil or in the United States now all are sleeping and Sunday did not started yet. Thinking on the day of separation is wasting time ... The time continues, the world continues and our time is limited.
Sometimes we complain about the time.We say that we do not have time, that the time is not enough. We complain of routine, doing the same thing, of sameness. But what I most wanted now was more routine with my beloved son. I wanted every moment and all we did could be multiplied several times and fortunately we have the power to do this with the mind. Each of us has a particular programming that can relive moments so real that rescues smells, feelings and scenarios.
This is good because it is live again today, is to take what I can never get to yesterday. But sometimes the longing and sadness suffocate me so that I wish I would stop the time and reserve time several times just to cry missing you. But time goes on and I have to continue. I weep in secret, walking or bathing, but living.
I redeem you alive in me when I keep doing things and living and not when I want time to stop. Wanting is not power. Power is much more accepting, not dying but living with you in my heart.
Sometimes we complain about the time.We say that we do not have time, that the time is not enough. We complain of routine, doing the same thing, of sameness. But what I most wanted now was more routine with my beloved son. I wanted every moment and all we did could be multiplied several times and fortunately we have the power to do this with the mind. Each of us has a particular programming that can relive moments so real that rescues smells, feelings and scenarios.
This is good because it is live again today, is to take what I can never get to yesterday. But sometimes the longing and sadness suffocate me so that I wish I would stop the time and reserve time several times just to cry missing you. But time goes on and I have to continue. I weep in secret, walking or bathing, but living.
I redeem you alive in me when I keep doing things and living and not when I want time to stop. Wanting is not power. Power is much more accepting, not dying but living with you in my heart.
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