I’d always be fuming, panicked in the car, watching the minutes tick off the clock knowing that I’d never make it in time. And my dad would simply turn of the volume on his cassette player (!), which was always some kind of jazz, and he’d drum his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music, and he’s say to me “Can you get there any faster than you’re going right now?”
And I’d realize no, I couldn’t.
I could only get there as fast as I got there.
Not a minute sooner. Not a minute later.
My dad already knew the art of hurrying slowly: of shifting vibration so that time shifts with you, of slowing down in the middle of rushing, to listen to music fully, and keep time to the beat.
When we hurry slowly, with full presence, time bends on itself, and we find that we have all the time we need, all the time we want, all the time we require.
When we hurry slowly, we are fully present in Now, and thus time is always perfectly as it should be.
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