06. In Time | Mind Machine Sessions

In Time The Machine teaches urgency, convincing you that peace depends on immediate answers and control. But faith softens that pressure, revealing that not everything must be forced or solved right away, and that some peace only unfolds in time. Reflections on Learning to Trust What Does Not Need to Be Forced One of the deepest habits the Machine built inside me was the feeling that everything needed resolution immediately. Questions felt urgent. Uncertainty felt unstable. Open situations carried emotional pressure that made waiting feel almost unbearable. I lived with the quiet assumption that if I did not move quickly enough, solve fast enough, or mentally stay ahead of life, something important might slip away. Everything became organized around timing. How soon I could know. How quickly I could resolve things. How fast I could restore certainty. How urgently I needed peace to arrive. The Machine treated delay like danger. That pressure shaped far more of my life than I realized at the time. Waiting rarely felt neutral. Open questions felt emotionally heavy. Even silence could become difficult because part of me believed unresolved things required immediate mental involvement in order to stay safe. So I kept reaching. Trying to secure outcomes. Trying to force clarity. Trying to mentally hold situations together before life unfolded on its own. But eventually, something deeper began revealing itself underneath all that urgency. The harder I tried to force peace, the farther peace seemed to move away. That realization changed everything. Because slowly, I began seeing how often the pressure itself was creating the suffering. The Machine constantly implied that waiting meant losing control, but underneath that urgency was a quieter fear: The fear that if I stopped pushing, everything might fall apart. That fear ran deeper than I understood. Looking back, I can see how often I treated timing itself as something I needed to manage emotionally. Life became something to supervise internally. The future felt like a responsibility I had to mentally secure before allowing myself rest. But faith introduced something radically different. Not passivity. Not avoidance. Trust. At first, that trust felt unfamiliar because my nervous system had spent so long depending on urgency as a form of safety. The Machine trained me to believe that action always protected me and waiting always carried risk. But slowly, faith began softening that pressure. I started realizing that not every unanswered moment required my hands on it. That realization brought enormous relief. Because for the first time, I stopped treating uncertainty like proof that something was failing. The future could still remain open. Questions could still exist without immediate answers. Life could still unfold imperfectly and gradually. And yet peace no longer had to wait until everything felt finished. That changed my relationship with timing itself. The pressure to rush softened. The demand to force outcomes eased. And something gentler began growing underneath the urgency. The growing ability to trust. Not because I understood everything perfectly. Not because I stopped wanting clarity. But because faith slowly taught me that what truly mattered was never slipping away simply because I was no longer forcing it. That’s what this song represents for me. Not passive waiting. Not resignation. But the quiet surrender of releasing urgency and learning that peace no longer depends on immediate resolution. The Machine still reaches sometimes. Still wants answers quickly. Still wants certainty before rest. But now I understand something I could not see before: Maybe peace was never found through forcing life to move faster. Maybe peace is trusting what I place in His hands… and allowing it to unfold in time.