Waiting is not a passage of time to be traversed but a condition of our being. In waiting, time enters our bodies; we are the time that passes. We wait even if we are not aware that we are waiting. The instrumental nature of ordinary waiting – where we usually wait for something that is supposed to be better than waiting –    conceals this intimate, existential aspect of waiting.

Waiting, in other words, is an opportunity to encounter those aspects of life deeply, perhaps neurotically, hidden in our busyness. If we claim our experience of waiting rather than being merely subjected to it, we resist the commercialization of time, we own our time, we make time matter — we matter.

In waiting, in listening to the inward melody of duration, we become attuned to our being.

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