Before The Clock

Long before clocks dictated our every moment,

We lived by a quieter rhythm - one whispered by wind and woven in stars.

There was a time when we didn’t need alarms to wake us.

The light did the calling. The birds did the beckoning.

We stirred when the sun kissed the earth, and we rested when shadows stretched long across the ground.

Time wasn’t something we chased - it was something we belonged to.

When Morning Was Sacred

There is something holy about the way the morning light slips silently into the room - as though heaven itself tiptoes in to say, “Begin again.”

In the days of our ancestors, the rising sun was not an interruption to a long to-do list.

It was the opening chord of a sacred song.

The warmth on the face. 

The rustle of trees. 

The scent of dew and soil.

All these were signs that life was returning—again, faithfully.

The sun became a companion, not a countdown.

Its slow, deliberate arc across the sky taught us the value of process.

That everything - growth, love, healing, harvest - takes its time.

And is still happening, even when we cannot see it.

 Moonlight and Mystery

When the sun slept, the moon took up her watch.

She was the keeper of mystery.

Of dreamworlds and story-swapping.

Of birth and stillness and the kind of quiet only night can hold.

The waxing and waning of the moon was not decoration but instruction.

She taught us that even light comes in phases.

That we can glow brightly, and we can also go dark—and still belong.

In many ancient cultures, women bled with the moon.

Communities gathered by her rhythm.

Wombs were trusted. Time was tracked not in hours, but in cycles - natural, sacred, spiraling time.

 The Tyranny of the Clock

Then came the clock.

With its numbers and minutes and grids.

It promised efficiency, control, production.

But it came at a cost.

We forgot how to listen to our bodies.

We began waking to buzzing instead of birdsong.

We rushed through meals, conversations, even childhoods.

We began to believe that time was against us,

That we had to beat it,

That we never had enough of it.

But time was never the enemy.

It was a river we used to float in—now we fear drowning in it.