Resolution: Radical Slowness

Take time to eat, taste, drink deeply.  Take time to bend.  Time to lose yourself in a sound, a thought, any moment that grabs you, passes through you.  Time to sleep, time to wake.  Take time to do what moves you, to follow your bliss, to dance a little now and then, to hear the song in your head and to let it out.  Take the time to know your own hands, to teach yourself some new tricks.  Take time for poetry and flowers, to contemplate death.  Time for eskimo kisses, time for snow and other angelic geometry, time to tell each person who loves you something beautiful they've never heard before.  Take time for sorrow, for grieving, to bear witness.  Time to learn, time to trust, time to make peace, time to follow through.  Take time to fold the laundry, time to stir the pot, time to read out loud, time to come bearing gifts.  Take time to watch the sky, to fall in love with a new constellation.  Take the time to see a leaf uncurl, a frog yawn.  Take time to hear the wind whisper and howl, to stand in the rain and in the sun.  Take time for water.  Take time for clouds, and baby teeth, and leaky ceilings, and upside-down cake, and the moon, and fenceposts, and your tongue, and running wildly, and good fats, and holding hands, and puzzles, and the train, and new recipes, and other languages, and long-lost stories, and dreams, and dreaming.  Take time to do your work.  Take time to make it sacred. Take your own damn time, people.  It's all you'll ever have.