"Anxiety, furthermore, always involves a reflection upon time, for I cannot be anxious about the present, only about the past or the future; but the past and the future, holding on to each other so tightly that the present vanishes." - Soren Kierkegaard
Layers of rock like waves of time. Quiet as if time stands still.
The more past-conscious, processed and future-aligned I am, the greater the wealth of autonomy I seem to have in the present. Fear has its origins in the past, but when it is imagined in the future, it presently taunts and consumes. The bodily sensation of fear is my experience of anxiety at its finest. Scrambling to smother the flame of fear puts the present experience on a pedestal while simultaneously robbing it of proper context. It’s as if present sensation actually becomes too prominent. It is still vanished in that balance and opportunity is void. The enantiodromia of neurotic suffering?
The mountains play a long game. From the top of them at sunset I see time stretched out around me. I know exactly where I am.