Had we but world enough and time…

I often think of Andrew Marvel’s seductive poem To His Coy Mistress.  Know it?  It’s great. 

Essentially, the persuasive protagonist eloquently explains why he and this lady he has the hots for need to have sex together ASAP ‘like amorous birds of prey’ because, well, time’s-a-ticking and we’ll be dead soon.  Why waste another breath! 

It’s an extremely convincing pitch.

Moving out from his more erotic lens, the protagonist’s concern about time slipping away really resonates and constantly features in the world of my mind.  Like a woodpecker. 

Another year almost gone (WTF).     

And it’s Marvel’s phrase, ‘Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near’ that gets me.  Viscerally. 

I can almost feel the chariot hurtling towards me.  And my back bristles. 

It can be exhausting.  And it’s a compass that sometimes stops me from mindlessly flipping to another binge-worthy boxset (which actually isn’t too bad, let’s face it), or chatting to a friend on the phone, like we used to.  Because, well, there’s no time for this!  Which is, of course, bullshit.  There must always be time for a pause and a call with a dear friend. 

A moment with no agenda and no desperate thirst for growth. 

Ever striving for balance, I see two sides to Time’s chariot and Marvel’s case to make it all worth something.    

Yes, on the more shadowy side, I reckon my saboteur feeds off this urgent call to ‘hurry the fuck up!’ and ‘don’t waste a literal moment!’ and ‘be productive at all times!’ 

The value there being that I want to live a rich, full and meaningful life.  The saboteur being the fear that I am not living a rich, full and meaningful life.  Thus, consequently using self-bullying tactics to not drop the ball.

The thing is, besides being relentless, it sucks the joy out of any chance for SPACE between tasks.  Delicious space.

Let’s please grant ourselves that when we can.  I would argue it is that space we need most of all. 

We’re a culture obsessed with squeezing the life out of every moment, filling our diaries to the brim, filling our eyes and ears and mouths and minds with non stop 24 hour stimulus, using every breath to do do do.  Gotta race, gotta read, gotta scroll, gotta gain.  More more more.  And this is often the side I ride.  But I am consciously trying to open up to the space, the freer moments, the tumbleweed!  Maybe the pandemic helped there (I never want my life to be as exhaustively crammed as it was BC).

I wonder if you feel the same out there… if so, consider space.  Space actually is our friend. 

And you can trick your saboteur into thinking this is productive because, well, it is. 

Space is the breeding ground for creativity, inspiration, clarity, joy.  Doing nothing might really take us all somewhere extraordinary.

As Danielle Marchant writes in her book Pause, ‘The power is in the period before the change.’      

That aside - and back to Marvel’s poem - I want to celebrate his chariot too. 

The crucial reminder that we are mortal.  It will end.  Did you ever read David Nichol’s book One Day?  A line in it really pierced me… spoiler alert… there’s a death.  And with it he writes,

‘And everything she thought and felt vanished and was gone forever.’

Poof!  In a flash!  Gone!  Sobering thought, right.  (Unless one has spiritual faith, of course.  But that’s not for today).

So, DEATH.

Frankly, I really don’t think we talk about this enough.  I’d like that to change.     

And this is the opposite of morbid.  Contrarily, healthy awareness of our mortality and the guarantee of death is an incredible gift to us all.  Let’s use it.  To take stock of our lives.  To check in and to change things when we need to.  To give us a little firecracker up the ass and be brave.  Go for it, only live once, seize the day etc. – and all those other clichés. 

Being mid 30s now, it’s pretty likely that my generation has experienced a dose of death.

The fundamental life certainty. 

On reflection, I’d say I’ve had interaction with death since I was young.   

And this might sound a little strange (but I’m safe sharing here)…

It is an honour. 

To experience death.

To feel the apocalypse of grief for loved ones lost and to carry on. 

Because we must. 

Because, in the face of death, we live.   

To be involved with death, affected by it, forever changed.  Whilst breathing.  Whilst living.

It’s a fertile moment between the living and the dead. 

(Maybe that’s why I love Halloween?)

I’ve kissed departed souls on the forehead and am always struck by their cold skin.  It’s instantly harrowing and has left me cold too.  Shaken.

When my dad died and we visited him at the funeral chapel, I knew not to touch his bare skin.  To remember his warmth and touch in my memories.  And that was the right decision for me.  Still, a gentle hand placed on his heart above his suit jacket with layers beneath.

He was dressed in his finest, looking his best (best in years, rather amusingly). 

It was a sombre and beautiful experience with my mum and brothers.  We all stood over his coffin and cried silently.  I felt a sense of awe.  What a life moment.  And in the presence of death. 

My mum, incredible as she is, uttered the immortal words, ‘This is not your father.  His spirit has soared.  This is his shell.’  And then she lifted his hands and arranged them in a more aesthetic way, a better way?  Not sure… but I was amazed at how familiar she was with death.  Unintimidated.  Comfortable even. 

As ever, she continues to teach and inspire me (without even knowing it!).  And that moment was a deeply important one.

To see death for what it is.  To respect it.  To be aware of it.  And then to carry on…

What is a Greater reminder to live.  None other than death.

So, Marvel’s got a point.

He finishes with the lines… 

‘Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.’

In other words, we can’t delay death.  But we can use it, run with it and live more knowing it will come one day. 

But not yet…