Thursday, March 18, 2010

Time is still really bothering me.

Of all the things of which I have learned, sometimes our reality is the hardest concept for me to grasp.

The reality of time.

You know, time is a very stubborn thing. It's very...set in it's ways. I can't think of anything less flexible; less unpredictable. It doesn't matter what anybody wants from time or needs from time, it just keeps on doing what it wants to do, every second of every day, without fail. It stops for no one, regardless of circumstances.

If time were a person, I bet he would be a real jerk.

One thing in particular that has been bothering me is the triple-bodied nature of time. Past, present, and future. Each piece is its own distinct entity, yet they all make up one whole, each part dependent entirely on the others.

Without the present and future, there would cease to be a past.

Without the past, time stops in the present and life would move on unaffected by decisions and occurrence of any kind, for there would be no concept of lasting consequences. No concept of yearning for things once held dear. And without the future, the present simply winks out of existence.

Without the past, the future would be left with no place to go. Without the present, the future would uselessly stretch on to infinity unexperienced, as there would be nothing to usher it into the past.

It's incredible really, thinking about all of this. Nigh unfathomable, at times.

Three things happen in every instance of time, whatever magnitude for which that instance is defined. The future moves into the present and renews itself, the present moves into the past, and the past fades away into the nothingness of memory. (Okay, so technically four, I guess.)

Every second of every day, the limitless potentialities of the future are refined into one definite and unchangeable past. Every second, the infinite range of permutations that lies in the future is resolved into one single present and the limitless, endless chaos of the universe is instantaneously transformed into one ordered reality, shared among every part of the present.

It is the ultimate destruction of potential, as infinity is truncated instantly to one.

Or is it, by the very definition of the word, the ultimate and inevitable realization of potential?

These are the things that keep me up at night. These are the reasons that while others sleep soundly, I lie still on my back in bed, eyes wide open, wishing for the will to close them.

I'm sure that if my ceiling could talk, it would tell you that I make it very uncomfortable.

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