From the Desk of Madame Zuchini

In Time

Today you will feel the furious spinning of Time as it ticks away taking your life and your happiness with it. You will become obsessed with dwelling on Time immediately after you read this prophecy.  Like the beating of a butterfly’s wings against the inside of a glass jar, our hearts beat, a dog barks, Time ticks. Like said butterfly we are trapped in the glass jar, where we see the world through a thick, muffled barrier;  clearly or in a blur, depending on the cleanliness of the jar.

Sometimes we find ourselves in that dreamy, fuzzy place  between sleep and awake, and we feel the absence of Time. Time ceases to exist, as we lay in bed and feel the chains of tangled worries and responsibilities drop to the floor like so much dirty laundry. (Not that Madame drops her dirty laundry on the floor, it’s just an example). In the surreal moments of this cessation of Time, we are 18 again or perhaps 37, and the waterfall of life stops flowing, stops taking us across the inevitable divide between life and death; across the Rubicon where consequences  have already been chosen. We are free again. Oh, for those few moments where we vanquish time, throb brilliantly with  the utter lack of fear, the meaningless counting of beans; cellulite!  How beautiful and wondrous it all is.  But  clocks ticks and the butterfly’s wings beat angrily against the  glass jar, and we get up as the alarm clocks buzzes, and get ready for work. Such is the cycle.

But be ready to capture those precious moments in a jar, so that when turmoil and unrequited desires stir inside us insidiously, we can reclaim those moments and feel the sweet cessation of Time and it’s minions. Click your heels together and Capture these transient moments. Imprison them!  Hold onto them like precious uninsured jewels, and roll them out when you think life has overwhelmed you. The creamy sweetness of moments like these will pull you through.  At least for five more minutes.

Madame out.

Word of the Day Implacable. As in: Time is implacable and aggravating, especially when Madame is waiting for her Irish coffee to boil.