The flower blooms for time as time flows through through grooves of space. Cellulose, built by the power of the Sun, fortifies the organic architecture and protects precious cargo needed to sustain life within every cell and organelle, as carbon machines twist and turn and shear and break, as thirsty little orchard of apples drink, all from the channels of air and water and the infinite. All things come together, a heavenly collection of everchanging microscopic life, and serve one purpose: So the flower blooms for time, because of time, with time, under time, with time...
Under time. It is the state of body and mind that exists in the time before an appointment but the time is not yours. Time before some event is yours to decide. You fill it with your thoughts and actions. When you are under time, then your mind is filled with the angst of waiting. Time sits on your shoulders like a gorilla sits on the jungle floor. Every moment like this; every moment that lingers to no end and does not grant any pleasure or gains; every moment under time is time lost to the world's systematic grind toward death, that gruesome and dark beast that awaits us after the end of our brain function.
With time. When we are with time we are in harmony with the world around us. A nap in the afternoon or a delightful meal with friends or family is the time when we are stretching our soul so that it may grow and give more to life than there was yesterday or the day before or the year before. A new word or new idea fires new signals in the brain and information is gained, and our minds are stimulated in synchronous fashion with the Universe. Some people call this existence with time Zen. Others call it prayer or meditation. The moments lovers experience falling in love are moments with time.
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