In our modern world, where atomic clocks and synchronized smartphones dictate our every move, time is often perceived as an overwhelming, binding force. It drives our productivity, fuels our anxiety, and acts as a relentless master over almost every aspect of our lives. However, to find true peace, we must step back and view time through a different lens—one that recognizes linear sequence as a mere filter for a much larger reality.
In Autobiography of a Yogi, Paramahansa Yogananda describes a formative lesson regarding this perceived “crush” of time. While rushing from Calcutta to Serampore to visit his guru, Swami Sri Yukteswar, Yogananda found himself trapped in a comedy of errors. Between various delays and a late-running carriage, he became consumed by the mathematical impossibility of catching his train. Yet, upon his frantic arrival at the station, he discovered that the train itself had been unexplainably delayed, waiting just long enough for him to board.
When he finally reached the hermitage, Sri Yukteswar met him not with a lecture on punctuality, but with a knowing smile:
“Why are you so excited? Does not the Lord point out that He is the Arrival as well as the Departure?”
I have experienced this phenomenon many times, and I can personally attest to a profound blessing that only occurred because I was “late.”
Years ago, while living in Los Angeles and working a demanding full-time schedule, I planned a trip to Yreka, California, to spend a weekend with my guru, Dhyanyogi Madhusudandas. Because he would only spend four years in the United States before returning to India, every moment in his presence was precious.
On the day of my departure, the infamous Friday afternoon traffic in LA became an impenetrable wall, and I missed my flight to San Francisco. More determined than ever, I rented a car at the airport and drove through the night, arriving in Yreka just as the sun began to crest the horizon.
Guruji was in the habit of receiving massages from his disciples—a service that invariably resulted in immense blessings for the practitioner. Because of my “late” arrival, I was granted this specific honor that morning. As a master of Kundalini Maha Yoga and shaktipat, Guruji was known for being adept at transmitting spiritual energy (shakti). By the time I walked out of that session, I felt myself glowing like a light bulb. Moreover, the fatigue of a sleepless night was utterly gone, replaced by a radiant peace. Had I made my flight and arrived on time, I would have missed this most memorable transmission of grace.
The lesson is clear: everything that is meant to happen will happen in its own Divine timing. It is our ego that insists on specific outcomes and rigid schedules, but the Universe operates on a more comprehensive cosmic clock.
This truth is further illuminated by those who have stepped momentarily outside of the physical body. In near-death experiences (NDEs), subjects invariably report that linear time is a construct that does not exist “on the other side.”
In her book Dying to Be Me, Anita Moorjani describes how her consciousness expanded during her NDE. From that vantage point, she could perceive her past, present, and potential futures simultaneously. She likened the experience to being in a dark room where the lights are suddenly switched on, revealing that everything we perceive as “before” or “after” is actually happening in a singular, eternal “Now.” She writes:
“Time didn’t seem to exist as it does here… It was as though the tapestry of all time has already been woven.”
Similarly, Peter Panagore, who experienced an NDE caused by hypothermia, spoke of an “Infinite Presence.” For him, the most difficult part of returning to life was the “crushing weight” of linear time—the sensation of being poured back into a “small, ticking box.”
When we feel the weight of that ticking box, we must learn to pause and breathe. We can choose to step back and remember that even when we don’t understand the “why” behind a delay, a higher power is at work. Our only true job is to perform every action calmly, with grace and presence. As the Buddhist tradition reminds us, all things in this material world are impermanent; our suffering arises only when we cling to a specific outcome or a specific second on the clock.
As Marcus Aurelius observed nearly two thousand years ago in his Meditations:
“Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.”
When we stop fighting the current and trust the flow of the river, we realize that when we act mindfully we can never truly be late; we are simply being moved by a deeper wisdom that knows exactly when we need to arrive.
