Spots of Time and Life (Part I)

William Wordsworth’s “The Prelude: Book Twelfth” cannot be adequately discussed in a measly article like this. However, I will pluck a few choice words because of my time in fellowship with my Heart this morning.

It all stems from the ideas of connections, relationships, and intimacy I explored the last few days. As I wrote in my personal morning pages, which is three times longer than my published page, I was thinking about how last night in particular I focused on human relationships when discussing intimacy. Our desire for intimacy, to make connections, and relate to life extends to this whole Universe. And that’s because of our composition.

We desire to intimately understand elements of creation and life because it is all creation of Spirit-Word. You and I, are functions of Spirit; Spirit is integral to Us. We are Spirit. We want to grasp all the beauties, complexities, and nuances of the creation. Eternal Spirit in us, exploring and discovering nature in a unique way through us, links us and creates a longing to connect to this organic whole.
Yes, a bit of a recap from yesterday, but on to the extensions of it!

This morning as I thought of these things, it struck me that my life is not the way I’ve always thought of it. If I put my life on a timeline with the span of years, I would record what happened in each year. Maybe I’ll actually write something that gets into a high school lit book and students would see how my miserable-ass life led to producing this great work. NOT. Not that I can’t produce a great work, but I don’t consider my life as miserable!

It occurred to me, though, that because this physical existence is a function of eternal Spirit, I can forget freakin’ timelines. My life is represented by a point, a drop, a spot in history. Points have infinite iotas in them; drops have droplets; spots have what?…spotlets?

Our integration with Spirit and desire to know intimacy with all of creation and all of its history makes this theory of each one’s life being a spot a bit more understandable. I don’t simply remember being a boy and pulling my sister on a sled through knee deep snow with a Christmas tree stretched across the back; I am there. It’s all in my existence, a spotlet in my spot of time.

And there’s my connection with Wordsworth. And I’ll be honest here. It’s late. I’m sleepy, and I want to treat Wordsworth with more attention than I can give right now. But be thinking about “spots of time.”

Until tomorrow, enjoy some thought, memory to the point that you relive it, value it, are intimately reconnected to it. Pretty special but available to us, especially through Heart, in a moment’s notice.

​Blessings!