When I forget about time.

I like waking up. Knowing it’s another day. Thursday. The day that follows Wednesday. But I wonder. If it really matters. Keeping track of days and weeks and months and years. Yes, everything seems to be measured. In time. Makes me wonder. If it’s possible to exist. Consciously. Outside of time. Of course, that would be another dimension. Maybe the same one called home. By the creator. Occasionally, I have the feeling of living in paradise. When I forget about time. –Jim Broede