As you sit waiting in the doctor’s office, you realize that time is still moving and it could be better spent. “Sitting, waiting, sitting, waiting” – these words of thought become lyrics of melody as they slowly crescendo into the beginning of a song within your mind. They are the lyrics of a very simple verse that consistently repeats and every now and then a chorus interjects. “Patiently, patiently, please see me; It’s me, it’s me, I’m the patient, see.” Looking outside the waiting room window, a bird flies past and you see it. Had you not been awaiting its arrival, the particulars of the moment as it was would’ve been changed and thus the bird would never have been alive. With only a moment’s notice, the bird is gone and once again, as it has happened so many times, you have lost so many opportunities to the preference of one.

            The current workings of your mind serve to open the unseen eye and it stares at all it could possibly know. A discordant harmony of drumbeats and guitar scales is added to the song. As much as the music helps to keep the moment sane, there is no escaping that it is affirming your inability to remain quiet. No one else hears it, but what a racket you are making. Stop it. Stop it. It does not stop.

            Quite possibly the reason for your song is seen through the window of your mind or the window of your room. Indian summer is sitting outside, awaiting your arrival, and ready to bestow upon you all of his inherited wisdom, glory and will allow you to be free for all that you know the word means. And his Father, Time, will not allow him to remain for long so the song becomes an all-consuming coalition of chaos with determined reason.

            “Todd, come on in.” It is all over. The music crashes to a thought-pounding climax without resolution. Without one moment’s notice there was not enough time to properly conduct the orchestra. You sit before a man who wears scrubs and gloves, glasses and pens, a recorder and an agenda. Oh, he wears them all. The thing is done after a moment of explanation on your behalf

What is Lost and What is Gained; Sit and Wait and Hear a Song--2

and the silent sound that honesty creates fills the room. Oh, that is funny. Rather, then, the sound of blinded human prosperity fills the room. Lies, you tell yourself.

            He sings his song too quickly for his medium is too well trained. You understand, though, that what he wishes to relate are three main points. In selective reality he sings, “Subcutaneous…painful…necessary removal.” These are his important lyrics. The faintness of the truth he sings of is oppressed by the way emphasizes his harmonies on the things you never sang about. All three verses are true; not at all in relation. Your condition lies below the skin; true. Yours is painful and requires removal; not so. His lies condition below the skin; true. His are painful and require removal; not so. His agenda reports that your subcutaneous condition is painful and requires removal because his does not. He requires its presence. Oh, he wears his agenda much like you, you see. His recorder soaks up all the lies you both allow to be sung. He leaves. You leave. Naturally.

            So in this moment you stand outside and realize that the moment is now yours. You have just lost it. Or have you gained it? Have you lost two to thought? Or have you gained two to wisdom. Four are now gone as you experience five. In the sixth you realize how you lost the first while thinking it was yours to gain. The symphony of time as defined by numbers plays on in your mind with childlike joy as you gain what you do and lose an infinite amount of other experiences. The song tells it like it is.