Can’t See the Hour Hand Move

Something is changing in infinitesimally subtle ways.  I would prefer the subtlety to be even more pronounced than it already is, such that I can’t even anchor it in written thought.  Anchoring adds complacence.

I am more taken by pauses that last even a fraction of a second than I used to be with constant, interminable action.  
The barely noticeable pause between string crossings while playing a violin passage makes all the difference to the sound quality, this realization enabled me to take a baby step forward in my playing.  I find that something similar is at work when I don’t rush to complete the sentences of a person with whom I may be conversing and when I let them bring their thought to its own natural conclusion.  This feels more rewarding than being heard or needing to appear like someone who might already have been through the thinking and the thought that is being expressed.
I am still traveling through a seemingly endless tunnel of arrogance where my careless, thoughtless, hurtful, indifferent, caustic and angry words are capable of wounding an intended target but I am quicker with the introspection and resultant remorse or contrition.  There is some light at the end of this dark tunnel.
There are other things, other clues hinting at the changes afoot (unintended pun looms) even in how I no longer twist my foot out of laced up sneakers or jam my feet in them without bothering to undo the laces first, all in an effort to maximize efficiency.   Now I undo the laces first – spread the two flaps apart – then extricate my feet with ease.  Since tying the laces can be done on autopilot, without assigning extra brain cells to the task, it is almost like the pause between string crossings; a centering space.
That’s all I choose to anchor for now.  Onward through the tunnel and into the light of unexplored and calm spaces.

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