Autumn in Love

Seasons are changing. Trees are growing. Yellow ochre and cadmium green is singing an autumn drunken silent song. We are getting older. Because things are changing.
But time is not real. Time does not exist. The older you are, time becomes more and more meaningless. Nothing happens in the past or future. The time is (only) now. And now is the time, as Yogi Bhajan liked to shout. To stand up, to speak up and to do it your way. In love and with compassion. It is our birthright to be happy. Now. And to see God in all. Our friends, dogs and that heavy breathing loose ground, and flash lightning violet.
We measure the difference between summer and autumn and believe, it is the time that’s changing. So time is when I recognize things did change. The buddhist say, time is the flow of moments. Like a film. A bunch of pictures. When we change these pictures we create movement. Without the transition, without the change (in our looking), there would be no idea of time, of getting older. The growing and dying simulates, that the time goes by.
Only because trees or kids are growing, because they are taller now than last year, we believe, that time is past. But only the trees were growing. Not the time was gone, everything else. Nature. Material. Humans. Not the time. It does not exist. There is only one evidence that time is flying: the change, the transformation.
Seasons are changing. The time is now. And I feel good.

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