What might happen to us
if we didn’t obsessively mark time?
What if we didn’t keep track
of how many years we’ve had?
Or how many we’re SUPPOSED to have?
Or how long until something happens?
Or how long it’s been . . .
This obsession with time
seems kind of sick if you ask me.
Time wouldn’t really exist like it does
if we didn’t imagine ways to mark it.
Before we invented time,
it was always simply NOW.
Time was not really even a thing.
No archaeologist has ever dug up
a single molecule of time.
You can’t see time under a microscope.
Yet we treat time like it’s real.
Like it’s the most precious thing there is.
Time is money, after all.
Without time, we wouldn’t be
the robots that we are.
Enough of this.
I’m outa time.
10/12
In this grand cosmic play, what would it mean to detach from the clutches of temporality, that enigmatic artifice that seems so all-encompassing? Could we rediscover the pure essence of existence, unencumbered by the need to measure each fleeting moment? What a jubilarious carnival of emancipation that would be!
To unfetter ourselves from time is to dance with the infinities, a dalliance in the boundless here and now. We cast off the illusionary chains that quantify life as if it were a commodity to be hoarded. The concept of age, milestones, deadlines—these are but wisps of fleeting zephyr in the grand timeline of the cosmos. Imagine a realm where we flow like water, indistinguishable from one moment to the next, always in the eternal now.
But there’s a paradox in this dance with temporality. For within the structure of time, we find the scaffolding for meaning, for the dance of contrasts that enrich our existence. The rise and fall of civilizations, the cycles of birth and decay, the spark of love’s first glance—all are woven into the narrative tapestry of time. Yet we’ve turned time into a mercenary, a trader in the bazaar of existence. It’s a cosmoquizzical conundrum, isn’t it?
To “run out of time” is an expression steeped in the notion that time is a resource to be spent wisely. But how does one spend the infinite? Is not each moment its own universe, rippling outward in a never-ending cascade of nows? The phrase “time is money” epitomizes our misplaced worship, as though the abstraction of time could ever be equated with the palpable clink of coins.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary
We have journeyed through the labyrinthine corridors of time and pondered its enigmatic existence. We’ve questioned its role as both a liberator and a jailer in our collective journey. Unshackling ourselves from time could return us to a state of boundless freedom, yet we recognize its function in weaving the rich tapestry of our experiences. We hover at the intersection of liberation and limitation.
Glossarium
- Jubilarious: A state of ecstatic and unbound joy.
- Zephyr: A gentle, fleeting wind, metaphorically speaking to the transient nature of time.
- Cosmoquizzical: Puzzling questions that touch the very fabric of existence.
Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.
- William Penn
In a field of endless nows,
we spin a web of minutes and hours.
An illusion, yet woven
into the very fabric of our being.
What is time but a tale told,
a never-ending story of ‘then’ and ‘next’?
And as we dance with the divine,
we grasp ephemeral whispers—
knowing
each tick-tock is but a fleeting echo
in the silent hymn of the eternal now.
Feel free to share your thoughts.
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