The way you treat ”time” in your life is the way life will treat you

I was running late, 
                                                                                                                             I was running wild, 
                                                                                                                             In my savage mind 
                                                                                                                             I was out of time.

Since it is December and this  year is almost over – a new one is about to begin, it turned out(it`s not a surprise) that Time matters.

Time is precious. Well, we all know that. And the funny thing is that we only realize its value when it is passed. I believe a lot of people have already comprehended how Time affects their lives, especially when they are stuck in what I call “Out of time mode”!

Out of time is actually the lack of chance, possibility or courage to do, say or achieve something in a specific time frame!

“Out of time” is often considered as something bad. Mostly because it sounds like not fitting in what is considered to be ”time”.  It`s depressing to know that you`ve missed a chance, isn`t it?

But let me tell you that. “Out of time” could be a good thing. Whenever we missed a chance or we lack courage to do something and the moment passed, this automatically triggers the “warrior” within. Because somehow we always know when the moment is gone and we were nothing but a silent participant of what was happening.

Being “out of time” is like a red flag for all the things that are important in life. If we always fit into the “time” definition, we lose perception of  time. “Out of time” awakens us, makes us more observing, more grateful, teaches us lessons.

Have you ever think how much comfort brings “time” in our lives – “I have time to do that”. ,  “I have time, I will say that later”., “I will achieve my goals later”. Here is the trick. When we talk about time and when we think about how much time we have, we often postpone things – for a later stage, for (hopefully) a better moment. Time looks indefinite. But it is not. Time is a moment! A very quite one! Comforted by the believe that time is indefinite, we remain deaf and blind for this quite moment. 

You`ve heard about how miracles happen out of our comfort zone. Sure it does. Time is the comfort zone. Knowing that you have time –  that will comfort you, will make you lazy. Out of time is where  miracles happen.  Out of time keeps you awake! It is a zone where we live consistently, with eyes wide open and no postponing.

And because at the end of the year we think more often about the things we haven’t done, say or achieve so far, I wish you more courage, self-believe and love to do the important things  “on time” the following year!

 

 

 

 

 

by: Mira Tosheva

 

Berlin Female 365: December Edition #outoftime, Published 20.12.2017

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The way you treat ”time” in your life is the way life will treat you

…. A grasp of the timeless…

 

And the end begins, the end of a tumultuous year, full of changes, emotions, self-reflection, findings and ultimately healing…. It marks an end of a spiral of things, and suggests the beginning of a multitude of others. We live by seconds, minutes, hours, weeks, months and years… we think of time as the only real gift that we actually possess, time is capable of anything… time changes everything… Time scares us into following what age command us to do… traps us between a beginning and an end. Time takes and gives us the best and worse of things.

Time… a concept we created, a concept that we say helps us keep track of life. Yet life, real life, my life, I always felt it the most when time wasn’t there… when time didn’t matter… when time stopped. I vowed to live it, march it, and own it by those moments that are out of time, frozen in the vortex, completely made by me. Life doesn’t happen when you are guided by time, it happens when you have the courage to step out of it. So forget the weight of the ticking sound, and mesmerizingly dance to the drums of your own timeline, no past, no present nor future should hold your music, break free, and live exactly what you are. Walk, run, jump and fly… be made of complexities, magic and pixie dust and transcend towards a horizon where the only time that matters is your time. So cheers to you, to me and to all others who wish for the different… cheers to all of us… might we all find our journey out of all time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

by: Kenza A.

Connect with Kenza on Facebook or by email Kezvilll@gmail.com. 

 

 

Berlin Female 365: December Edition #outoftime, Published 20.12.2017

…. A grasp of the timeless…

If you get out of time (something like a prayer)

 

Come.

Come to me, my inspiration. Come to me, my Muse. I’m so lonely without you. I’m so boring without you. And my life is so still and so colourless…

My inspiration… Am I too lazy to get it back? Am I too old? Have I become too stupid?

Why? – Because.

Because I long for beauty. I long to see it behind people’s pupils, I long to see it on people’s faces, I long to see it in the city around me, in art, in music, in words…

I can’t see it anymore. I could say that it hurts me like nothing else, but it is a lie. I don’t feel hurt, I feel annoyed and tired. Out of time, out of times, out of myself.

‘I’m so tired, I’m feeling so upset…’

So come to me, my inspiration, my Muse. Help me, heal me, let me feel the worlds and the words inside of me.

Let me see again, let me dream again, let me know my existence.

Come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

by: Strange_Chameleon

 

Berlin Female 365: December Edition #outoftime, Published 20.12.2017

If you get out of time (something like a prayer)

Waiting Between Worlds

 

Like a waiting room or is. Obvious, yes. More yellow than expected white, slavered thick with worry sighed. Magazine graveyards, taunting tombs. Plants not dead nor growing, sap in stasis, brown creeping green. Walls keeping in or out clad with useless maps. Cheap prints of the generic or too specific. They should have done with it. Have a smokers’ corner. A fornication chamber. A fry up dripping down the leaflet stand, egg painting the face of the man in the grey roll neck, beans smothering the bonny baby and bacon cupping the breasts of the ideal woman. 

There’s a solitary window nobody will crawl out of (the doors are painted on). A window onto a domino set of trees, flowers, kiosks, wild animals and concrete. A bulbous, icy light squints onto us. We congregation with our lives sat uncomfortably on our knees. ‘We?’ Purgatory’s yours only, those waiting with me are only sketched, unreal. The cleansing will come. Once I’ve flicked through the grubby Marie-Claire and fingered my mobile for a small eternity.

My heart aches for the soup my everything is preparing. With salt water and our last shop, table for one covered in my shrapnel. We all get blown out, don’t get so Elton John about it. Nobody deserves it less. I just would have enjoyed more time. I would have taken some things back and put more love in their place. Even if I didn’t feel like it. Yes. Waiting, like walking towards nowhere in shoes that don’t fit.  How will it be, the fire? Bonfire, catalogue mahogany with mantelpiece, Olympic torch or dragon’s breath? No clue. Tick tock and wrong, here the bearer comes. Spotty work experience youth with a tacky lighter. A prayer? I know some hymns. He’s not ready for me yet though. In the waiting room you wait. Time will come, time has come. The watery soup’s eaten and all the magazines are all read. He starts with my hair and I feel like the sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

by: CM Burgess

 

Berlin Female 365: December Edition #outoftime, Published 20.12.2017

Waiting Between Worlds

Watching it grow

 

The seed had been planted in April, deep in the darkest part of my being, lying there quietly in it’s hard impenetrable husk. It barely bothered me at all, and I only thought of it briefly when I was alone and wondered whether it would grow. 

By June, however, a tiny shoot poked above the surface, like a hand raised in class, a gentle reminder of its existence. It rose stealthily in its defiance of gravity. I ignored it, but it grew like a weed, stronger and quicker than I had ever imagined possible. In my mind, the medusa tendril would only turn my technicolor life to stone if I looked at it straight on, so for now it remained in my peripheral. I acted like others couldn’t see that it was affecting me, but they all saw through my facade and began to wonder if I would tell them before it was too late. 

In August, I began to blossom and could no longer hide my fears. I had to recognise that the tiny seed had now become what it had been designed to be; a plant that would soon bear fruit. I struggled to conceal it now, making excuses for my appearance and lateness to work, bailing on friends and spending more time on my own, wondering about this thing we had made, we had created together. I felt like I had nowhere to turn, that I would have to raise you by myself, but then I was approached by those who loved me who told me it was fine, that little tiny plants with beautiful precious flowers make you feel a love like nothing else in this world. They make you wonder about how life begins.

In December I was bulging, bursting at the seams, ripe and ready. I lay and waited for the women with blue gloves and white coats to bring me to harvest, waiting and waiting to see what I’d grown with everything that I was. But when he fell to the ground, they picked him up, and I realised I had waited too long. He was still and quiet. The life and joy that I had been promised was empty before my eyes as I looked upon what could have been, and I felt barren. He was beautiful on the outside, but inside he was rotten. All I could do was look at him and curse myself for ignoring him for so long. I never thought it would be possible to create such a perfect piece of fruit from a tiny, insignificant seed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

by: A.A Eckersley

 

 

Amelie is a writer hailing from Hackney, East London. Currently working on a dystopian novel, she has come to realise that there are two things in life worth living for: freedom of expression, and really cute cats. Read more from Amelie on her blog and on Tumblr here.

https://ameliewritesblog.wordpress.com/

http://datberlinlife.tumblr.com/

 

Berlin Female 365: December Edition #outoftime, Published 20.12.2017

Watching it grow

stark raving

you handed me Three

pomegranate seeds; said

pop

those suckers in your mouth,

sweet queen,

and See what

there is to see.

 

Then I followed you down,

to that old sacred ground

and I lost the sense to flee.

 

But the music was loud

and the dancing orgasmic;

how all of it pressed upon me—

 

those sweat dampened walls,

those bodies fluorescent,

One mass! a horrid bright sea

 

I rushed to a window

tore the curtain asunder

but all that there was before me

 

was not sky

was not light

nor a cloud to hold on to

 

But a smile.

A row of white teeth.

 

by: Karina Stridh

Karina Stridh is yet another New Yorker who washed up on the banks of the Spree like so much driftwood and has since called Berlin home. Should Hades offer you pomegranate seeds, Karina recommends starting with half first and seeing how you get on; don’t have three at once. karinastridh.com

Berlin Female 365: November Edition #skies, Published 15.11.2017

stark raving

Sunset over the Spree

 

From köpenick with love

Sunset over the spree

The sun leaves behind blood shot searing straight lines on the azure of the sky

Drawing an impressionistic painting for us to admire, to indulge in

Making space for gentle intimate clouds to over tower my tripped out mind and bedazzled gaze

Sunset over the spree

Around the TV tower, the deserted park with its round wheel watching over the nature of plänterwald

The Allianz insurance building lost inside the horizon, showing off its evening lights near Treptower Park

Competing for brightness and lucidity against the sunset on the spree

Sweeping and tumbling comfort over the waves

Reflecting its slumbering, fatigued, done with day, shades

Resting its intensive, now fading power, tucked in behind the moods of the river

Till its waking hour, in the weary dreads of a new morning..

To greet and shake hands with its familiar twin, the sunrise over the spree

 

 

 

 

 

 

by: gaby bila-günther aka lady gaby

 

Berlin Female 365: November Edition #skies, Published 13.11.2017

 

 

 

Sunset over the Spree