A thought on time...
I was thinking today...
Time is relative. Einstein is a genius. Why do we measure life by this set unit, when time is merely the process of change that happens at the speed of thought and development. A history book, tells the story of time, but a clock does not. Time is the chaotic speed of thought. The time is always now; this moment. It is thought that elicits a difference. A clock, although it moves is stagnant. Sixty seconds is a minute, but the thoughts that happen in that passing are the true teller of time.
I realize that a lot of me must die. That life is a process of death and rebirth. Life truly is a dialectic. I must kill myself to grow. I must let the stagnation decompose under the moss and mold of new life.
Existential anxiety. Why am I born to die? An answer not so easily apparent. The romantics had it figured out. The meaning of Life; to develop the potential of oneself. This brings us to a problem though. What is one's self? Is it me, the physiology of me, or something more? Are other's me too? Where is the line? Is my life, what is meant? Is my life so separate from everyone else's that my actions and thoughts don't influence theirs? Is that influence a connetive tissue that extends myself to incorporate them? Where is God in all this? Maybe the Hindu were right? That you and I are god. That we are the same god, but have forgotten, forever trapped in a game of hide and seek.
How much time has gone by in that paragraph? Is it just the thought that tells the story of time, or is it also the resolution and implantation of that thought? The thesis and anti-thesis...the synthesis...thesis...anti-thesis...Synthesis... A machine? Constructing answer to prove that answer wrong. Modify the answer to find fault in the answer again. That is the unit...the only unit of time. A rhythm of chaos. Not like a sin wave...not a cosine...but a sound wave...yet three-dimensional....and then tetra!
*for a visual definition of time look up Hiroshi Sugimoto
Time is relative. Einstein is a genius. Why do we measure life by this set unit, when time is merely the process of change that happens at the speed of thought and development. A history book, tells the story of time, but a clock does not. Time is the chaotic speed of thought. The time is always now; this moment. It is thought that elicits a difference. A clock, although it moves is stagnant. Sixty seconds is a minute, but the thoughts that happen in that passing are the true teller of time.
I realize that a lot of me must die. That life is a process of death and rebirth. Life truly is a dialectic. I must kill myself to grow. I must let the stagnation decompose under the moss and mold of new life.
Existential anxiety. Why am I born to die? An answer not so easily apparent. The romantics had it figured out. The meaning of Life; to develop the potential of oneself. This brings us to a problem though. What is one's self? Is it me, the physiology of me, or something more? Are other's me too? Where is the line? Is my life, what is meant? Is my life so separate from everyone else's that my actions and thoughts don't influence theirs? Is that influence a connetive tissue that extends myself to incorporate them? Where is God in all this? Maybe the Hindu were right? That you and I are god. That we are the same god, but have forgotten, forever trapped in a game of hide and seek.
How much time has gone by in that paragraph? Is it just the thought that tells the story of time, or is it also the resolution and implantation of that thought? The thesis and anti-thesis...the synthesis...thesis...anti-thesis...Synthesis... A machine? Constructing answer to prove that answer wrong. Modify the answer to find fault in the answer again. That is the unit...the only unit of time. A rhythm of chaos. Not like a sin wave...not a cosine...but a sound wave...yet three-dimensional....and then tetra!
*for a visual definition of time look up Hiroshi Sugimoto
posted by jeremiah.reeves at 10:43 PM
4 Comments:
Autopsy the clock and you may find that it also can tell a story of time.
what a great image for a painting!
I'll pick it up. Thanks. I always love when people refer you to books.
Time is the distance you must travel from the realization to the reality. Sometimes it is nanoseconds and others can be decades.The realization of your mind came years ago and only now do I look on with anticipation of your reality. The elliptical path taken,drawn tighter. Focus can be a key, you choose to lock or unlock the door,
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