Time, is it the turning of the earth, or the turning of the soul? We call it 24 hours, yet it slips away in 23 and 56. We measure it in clocks and calendars, yet it reveals itself in a single glance, a single word, a single breath. Why does one man drown in too little while another walks unhurried through abundance? Perhaps time is not kept, but revealed, not owned but borrowed. For those who chase it, it flees: for those that honor it, it unfolds. Tell me then: is time passing through us, or are we passing through time?
Christina's Blog 