Now/New

Imagine for a moment that you’re not you: you’re time. You stretch out back as far as you can go and forward further than can be imagined. You can travel anywhere along this line, and wherever you rest your attention, it is now.

It is Now when Cedar Bough first steps onto the big empty lot.

Cedar Bough is faced with the challenge presented to all founders: the empty lot.

It’s now when Acacia saves the day, twice.

“Stay calm. We’ve got a grrl in charge.”

It’s now when Mesquite falls for Anya.

Psycho girlfriend alert!

It’s now when His Royal Cuteness changes his name to The Royal Lllama Tamer.

“Got a new nickname now. They call me the Royal Llama Tamer.”

And it’s now when Manzanita shares her pure, dark joy.

“Mwahahaha! Your impending sadness brings me such glee! This is what I orchestrated all those ‘tender’ moments for!”

It’s now when Cassandra joins the family.

“Some things are worth more than succumbing to one’s fear of commitment.”

And it’s now when Paris meets Princess.

So cute together

Now Manzanita annoys the Dickens out of Grim.

Look how clenched his fists are!

And now PV practices his comedy routines.

At least he’s got a sympathetic audience.

Now, Willow and Ironwood study together.

Sibling study session

And now, all these are gone.

On this side of the screen, when I was moving through seasons of grief after my own dad faced his great transition, the only way I could make it was by staying in the present moment. Whenever my attention moved to past or future, I would crumble. But when I stayed fully present in the present, I felt connected to every single moment that I had ever shared with my dad, as well as every moment when his beautiful strong presence graced this earth.

Because time–in the moment–isn’t linear. It’s not one big string of copper reaching from tailpiece to pegs. It’s continuous.

For our souls–and for our present awareness–it is always now, and being fully present places us smack in the moment when what is happening–and what has ever happened and will ever happen–happens.

When we tell a story, unless we’re Virginia Woolf sweeping through the Lighthouse, we stretch out time, like a cello string, so we can make the notes sing in succession. We create a sense of the linear when we do this–and we lose a sense of the connected moment.

Maybe this is why legacy storytellers feel the loss of their Sims so keenly. The narrative drives them away from this present moment in which all is connected.

And yet. And yet I write this in the present moment. You read it in the present moment. Nothing is lost. Look! It’s here!

It is now that Madrona decides she wants her first kiss with Mailman No. 2.

It is now that Niko decides he wants to become a writer, now that he feels glee in drawing from his own childish nature to write a book about My Pretty Pony that will bring delight to children.

It is now that Niko and Aspen decide to have a child of their own. It’s now that all is new.