Saturday, January 21, 2012

time


Time, it’s all about time. Live revolves around it, it dictates everything. We live by the clock, we can’t speed it up and we can’t slow it down. The ticking never stops; the hands never stop moving. We have too much of it, but we don’t have enough of it. Every breath we take finds itself on some never-ending timeline that extends from the moment the cells form into a foetus to the moment our cells re-join the earth as dust. And even then, we only slot into one much bigger and greater timeline of which our humble hours on this earth only impinge as much as we allow ourselves to achieve. Time stops for no one.

Then we meet another soul, who has their own timeline. Paths cross, hours are spent together, and eventually your time continues to tick, as does theirs, as does everybody’s, but their time is no longer any of your business. A brief collision of lives that can change the course of your entire life’s collection of passed seconds, but is gone before you even have the time to understand it all.

It’s bizarre, this time thing. Take any moment in your existence and press the proverbial pause button, and you’ll see that time is not at all as linear as our timelines would suggest. Memories, flashbacks, images of the past, stand alive in our minds, as real as the moment they were lived. The future, imaginations and visions of what could, or what will be, flashing by behind your eyes, as neurons fire and thought processes are triggered. Who you are, right in any moment, is defined by events and instances that can’t be erased, can’t be unimagined.

Time is a healer, they say. Give anything time and eventually the emotions that are entwined with that anything fade away and you can begin to rebuild a world. But there comes the problem of waiting, the pain of waiting, the torment of letting the hours slip by, knowing that it could all be in vain anyway, that these feelings might actually never die. But I prefer to believe those that tell me time heals. I prefer to imagine it will all be better once the plaster of time has covered up what is actually the reality of this moment.