Time Is An Illusion
It has been a little over 6 weeks–45 days to be exact–since my husband Terry left his earthly body and entered that “mysterious” realm beyond this earth where chronological time likely no longer exists. I say “mysterious,” because those of us still in our earthly bodies have probably not yet experienced the fullness of the secrets of eternity.
If backed into a corner, most of us would say that we believe in something beyond this earth, or at least we want to believe that there is more to life than this world and this body. That’s what faith is all about. Without faith in the existence of Someone beyond what we can see with our mortal eyes, hear with our mortal ears, and touch with our mortal hands, our lives would be pretty shallow and empty most of the time.
If you read my previous blog, which was in essence the eulogy that I spoke at my husband’s memorial celebration on December 12, 2014, you will remember that I presented the challenge to live life savoring each moment–relishing the remarkable ride.
Perhaps we can do that best when we realize that time, as we currently know it, is just an illusion. More about this below.
I knew when I finished my book, Love Trumps Fear: 8 Medical Insights that Will Heal Your Heart and Transform Your Health, in November 2014, that there likely would be a sequel. For you see, if my assertion that Love can Trump Fear is true, then Love ought to be powerful enough to Trump Fear in every circumstance. Little did I know that this Love would be pushed to its uttermost as my soulmate of 42 years moved suddenly from earth to eternity two weeks later. And that Love has so far stood the test.
So, 3 days before my husband’s triumphant transition on December 12, I began to write a sequel that is currently titled Luscious Living: 365 Ways to Relish the Remarkable Ride.
Here is the first entry that I wrote on December 9, 2014, as Terry and I said goodbye to each other at the airport, anticipating being together again in a few days. Although I never saw Terry’s earthly body again on this earth after December 9, this entry turned out to be amazingly prophetic.
“Another goodbye. You’d think we’d be good at this by now. After all, we do this almost every week, as I work in Northern California and my husband works in Texas. A few days together and then a few days a part. Sounds simple, easy, but it’s not. Saying goodbye is gut-wrenching and heart-stopping, knowing that you will miss your lover and best friend at breakfast, dinner, and bedtime. That a part of you remains with him, and vice-versa.
“But, oh, how the anticipation of goodbye anchors you in yourself. Makes it easier to appreciate the moment, and causes you to be thankful for what some view as mundane: his smile, his breath, the sparkle in his eyes. You become more giving, more for-giving, more conscious of each moment. Seeing time slip through your fingers to the next goodbye, and then to the next hello.
“If we think our moments are numbered, we often appreciate them more. Perhaps that’s the way we should always live, appreciating the moment, knowing time is short, fleeting, and ultimately only an illusion.”
As I re-read this entry, I encourage us all again to appreciate each moment: loving ourselves and others more and judging less; selflessly serving others in lieu of selfishly serving ourselves. Chronological time is likely just an illusion, a stumbling precursor to the reality of eternity. Let’s practice relishing the remarkable ride more as we serve others with agape love, and as we do, we will glimpse a tiny view of eternity.