It is impossible or at least improbable to keep the past from passing away. Time exists somewhere between the order and its execution; it is identical with the impermanence of being.
Not world time, but infinite time is formed by imagination, existing on a new horizon in an invisible labyrinth gliding with new rhythms, unbounded by space and number, measured only by those observers outside of what endures within.
No matter what the clock says, time is time. Fulfillment springs to life only in the present, not from hope in a distant nonexistent future. Joy exists in the here and now.
Desert Dweller 