We have established that there are multiple ways in which we can approach the idea of time. We have known it to be cyclical. We have heard it can be linear. But maybe, just maybe, we decided, it is more uniform and simple than that. There might be no moment but the present. There never was a past or a future. All you can truly know is what you are doing right now. The rest might as well be memories and dreams, figments and portents, sparks and embers. What is eternity?
We sat precariously on our overturned five gallon buckets, curled over each plant, hunchbacks of St. Mary’s County in the making. In our eighth hour in the summer sun, the sweat on our forehead accumulated from the long day, slid off our skins and plopped on the black plastic below. It was already 3 pm, and we had a lot more basil to pick.
Have you ever done one specific action for so long that you are not sure your life has ever consisted of anything else? As I stared down into the rows of perky bright green plants, two feet high but definitely fathoms deep, the layers of foliage started to meld together, each cluster losing its identity as parts of a whole. As the stems, leaves, and flowers of Genoa basil collapsed into themselves, my eyes, hands, and brains mastered the same stunt. I plucked tip after tip of basil flags from their confident, patriotic positions in the air, looking, seeing, and acting in a constant flow. This was not the auto-pilot I have known before. I was not removed from the movement; we were the very same thing.
This is the volcano from which our talk of time erupted. You see, Maurie and I are working on an organic farm in southern Maryland. We thought we had lived parts of our lives before that basil filled day. I recalled having a family living farther north in the state and friends from Canada. He had told tales of hitchhiking around Europe and protesting at the G8 summit. It had all seemed real until now. We had spoken of our desires to explore unseen coasts, to find a teacher, to practice magic. We wanted these things to happen, but began to doubt they ever would. All we really knew was that it was 3 pm, and we still had basil to pick. As soon as I removed a stem and put it in my trusty white pail, a new bunch popped back into place.
We both agreed that this was eternity: intentional, regenerative, and everlasting. As soon as I understood this truth, I became suddenly comforted. I would not have to wonder anymore about what I would be doing next year after graduation because the answer was clear: I would still be picking sweet basil. Well, so it goes, I thought, and I got to work.
Does this sound crazy? You will probably be tempted to mention that at some point, Farmer Brett was satisfied with the amount we had gathered and we were able to go home, bathe, sleep, and even start a new day.
I must caution, though, that Time can be mighty slippery and how you fill it can be unpredictable. It sure does seem to have a lot of tricks up a very cavernous sleeve. Who knows what circumstances may envelop you, and what actions you might be called upon or inspired to do? Will you plow through this minute, your surroundings, these tasks, this planet? Or might you instead look around and see a gorgeous field of basil, ripe and ready for picking, and enjoy what is now and will come next?
These choices, based on mindful observation, appreciation, and positive interactions, may have more consequences than we know or care to admit. After all, eternity can be just around the corner.
What is yours made of?
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