The Concept of Time
How can I even begin
to explain the concept of time?
It does not run
in the direction of the ordinary.
I watch life rush past me—
morning into night,
days into years—
but within my spirit,
time takes a different shape.
It is not ruled
by the hands of a clock,
but by the hands of God.
Should this surprise me?
When God claimed this world
through His creation,
His intentions were never bound
to the limits we see today.
We are of the earth—
yes—
but we are also of Him.
So is it any wonder
that He lives within my heart?
That although I walk this world
as human,
my heart belongs to God?
And if my heart is His,
then it is divine—
carrying love
far too vast
for ordinary understanding.
How could a human heart
ever hold a love
so immeasurable?
Perhaps God placed His own
within us—
so we could.
Is this why love is so precious—
because God touched it first?
And when we are distanced
from a love like that,
it’s no surprise the ache
is felt so deeply.
Could it be the signal
God wove into us—
a holy warning
that something sacred
Is it too far from our hearts?
That the soul recognizes
what the mind tries to explain away,
and pain becomes the language
that says,
“Love belongs closer than this.”
For there is no greater joy
than to live with love found—
close as a breath away.
What does that closeness feel like?
It feels like breath learning its purpose.
Like warmth entering places
you forgot were cold.
It feels like the heart is expanding
without asking permission—
as if love itself
is making room to live.
It feels like knowing
before understanding,
like recognition
without reason.
It feels like silence
that speaks louder
than anything you’ve ever heard.
Like your soul finally sitting
in the seat it was always meant for.
It feels like God
wrote a name inside you
long ago—
and now
you can finally hear it.
Life was never meant to be ordinary—
could this be the outcome
of forgetting Eden?
For we were born
from a place where God walked with us,
where love was language,
and wonder was the air we breathed.
But somewhere along the journey,
we learned smallness.
We learned rules and limits,
fear and forgetting.
We learned to shrink
a divine existence
into something manageable.
Yet the heart remembers
what the mind has buried.
It remembers the garden—
the wholeness, the holiness,
the love that needed no proof.
And every time love draws near,
every time wonder awakens,
every time the soul refuses
to settle for ordinary—
that is Eden
calling us back.
Not to a place,
but to a truth:
We were created
for more.
