When the space between Kairos and Kronos begins to narrow (and Kairos is pushed into the Kronos state), the transition could feel quite tumultuous. Imagine a wide, open bay that at one end channels into a narrow river. As the waters begin to converge, currents rise and pressures mount. The transition feels curt and choppy. A panic might even ensue…especially if you’re actually in the water trying to swim – worse yet, caught off guard.

I garner to guess that many of us (and not just I) experience this kind of panic in our day-to-day lives. One morning this past week I had a “little” episode. That current pulled me under for a couple minutes. When I caught my breath, I was very curious: “What up with that?” The story goes like this…

It was a weekday – our family was up early – 6:45 a.m. “Morning everyone,” kisses, cuddles, “time to get dressed, school day,” I heard myself say. Our carpool pick up was the usual 7:30. My kids were trailing a bit but made it down stairs. We had 20 minutes left and breakfast (cereal and fruit served) coffee brewing for me, we assembled round the kitchen island. We even chatted, “What’s for lunch?” “I dreamt of snow last night.” “Is there a football game on tonight?” All seemed smooth sailing until 7:28 when we were down to those last two minutes before the eminent honk. Ride’s here – you’ve gotta go. Go, go, go. And, oh yeah, don’t forget to say “Goodbye.”

But rewind: back to those last two minutes:  My husband and I calling out, “Have you brushed your teeth?” “Get your jacket on. Shoes. Shoes. Shoes!” But wait. My daughter Melise is still in Kairos. She’s not flowing into 7:30 punctually. She’s in a trance, watching her jacket warm up and blow up like a hot air balloon over the heater vent. Mesmerized, fully engrossed, she’s having a full fledge Kairos moment. What? “You’re not listening to me,” I blurted out (of course, I said that more politely the first time). “Ah, put that jacket ‘ON’ – and get your shoes on,” I insisted crouched down holding her shoes waiting for some feet. (By the way, not that she asked for any help putting on her shoes in the first place.) Now time’s closing in; I can’t breath, we have 30 seconds and I swear I can already hear the impending honk. Panic. Bard louder. Then, thankfully (though, it didn’t seem nice at the time), my husband intercedes. Phew! “Bye kids, I’m leaving,” and I walked off to my bedroom.

When all got still again, I took a moment to reflect. What’s with all that heightened anxiety? Hmm, is this a leftover issue from my childhood, or something? You see, I had just started reading “Parenting from the Inside Out” which begins with advice to each parent to try and understand their reactive patterns as they play out when with your kid(s). The idea is to know the pattern, somehow break it, and then our children will be free to discover and express their true selves – instead of adopting the parent’s reactive (and restrictive) behavior – probably handed down to them from generation to generation. So, I sat quietly, breathing and remembered this…

Hmmm, I see a little girl (me) watching my father sipping his tea in the morning, still in his pajamas and robe. He’s enjoying his Kairos moment and he doesn’t want to give it up. The clock, however, keeps ticking away, and he’s now decided to call and cancel his first meeting of the day.

Unconsciously or subconsciously he’s prolonging the morning – putting off facing the “real” day – the “Kronos” day. He’s a civil engineer – and the office is now calling him (either telepathically or by phone, I can’t say). He’s feeling that need to leave. I now recall, he once told me he always wanted to be an actor instead of an engineer, but one was a solid career so, well, he became an engineer. But maybe sitting on the sofa, sipping tea and (what I call ‘dilly dallying’ to my kids) was a creative, right-brain yearning to be met and discovered and expressed). That hefty left-brain activity of drafting and calculating was weighing him down. So maybe lingering in Kairos was his method of compensation. Ah. But the clock is still ticking. “Reality” is closing in, and it’s getting harder to breath in here. “Stop day dreaming and get to work!” some demon calls out. And then begin those last two minutes of full throttle anxiety, a panic filled acrobatic flight through the house until he finally somersaults out the door into his car and drives off (pretty much keeping that “I’m late” hysteria until after lunch when physical digestion sets in and slows everything down, again).

Oh geez. I definitely need another breathe after that story. So, does this play sound familiar? I wonder how many generations in my family tree this goes back? Maybe just one. I’ll have to ask my dad.

Kyrose to the rescue! She sings her song into the wind “Aaaaa Yyyaaaa…” It comes from her throat (what chakra is that?) and it echoes and trails off at one with the wind and the air and everything. The goblet of fire and the fairies, they hear her. My daughter Melise can hear her.

I ask this question now: how can we hold Kairos and Kronos together? How might they be symbiotically intertwined so the transition is more peaceful? A dissolve verses a cut. What if all time was happening simultaneously, and we could breath and feel it all? Try this experiment (I just did): Take a deep breathe of Kairos (be here now). Now a deep breathe of Kronos (moving forward, the next minute). Now take a third breathe holding the two together.

That’s the power of Kyrose.