There is no present. Try to find it.
Reach for "now" and it is already gone — the word is barely out and the moment it named is behind you. The future does not pause in the present on its way to becoming the past. It crosses over instantly, without stopping, through a line too thin to stand on.
You have three things, and only three. A past that is fixed and cannot be touched. A future that is imagined and cannot yet be reached. And between them, a razor's edge with no width at all, where the two meet for less than an instant.
The present is too thin to live in — which means it was never meant for living in. You cannot rest on a razor's edge. It holds exactly one thing. The strike.
The present is not a room you sit in. It is the single frame where your will touches the world before the world moves on. Past is done. Future is fiction. The only place you can ever act is the knife-edge of now — and the instant you act, it becomes the past that made you.
Stop trying to live in the present.
It is not for living in. It is for doing.
