Awoke late and could quite easily have rolled over in my sack and snuggled down some more, but thankfully a beam of bright sunlight pierced the curtains and drove me out the door into what turned out to be a beautiful day!
My way took me to the lakeside via Rosario road and that always exhilarating first glimpse of the Cascade water through lush evergreen trees. There are so many views on this magical isle I find beyond compare, but something about a bright blue sky harmoniously reflecting in clear lake water is extraordinarily hard to match.
Not long into my circumnavigation of the lakeside trial I was ever pleased to run into two familiar faces, a couple whom over the months and years I have exchanged many a joyful exchange with. Our conversation was brief, particular to the beauteous weather and the wonderful ambience thus presented.
“And just the second day of spring”, I remarked quite incorrectly. My chronological falsity was accepted with kind consideration, I was of course referring to it being the second day of summertime as defined by the uniform time act.
This very easy fluid misstatement and acceptance of a pseudo factoid presented to me, as an individual who quite famously has far more time on their hands than business to take care, the opportunity to question at some length what exactly is my personal interpretation of the meaning of time.
I immediately decided that upon my return to my cottage in the woods I would with some haste search out the scientific explanation, as well as the philosophical and chronological. I should add at this point that my usual practice in matters scientific or practical is to refer such questions to my dearest friend and font of all wisdom, Robin the Empress of Mud. My reasoning for this particular methodology is two fold, firstly she has without question one of the most organized filing cabinets of information I have even known, and secondly and most importantly she keeps absolutely calm when, without fail, I lose interest and/or concentration halfway through the explanation, and continues on doggedly in the hopes my mischievous and wholly willful mind will return eventually to the matter at hand.
I am in all ways and all things unquestionably the most trying of men, but in my defense I am after many years of practice extremely good at it.
Naturally on refection I decided to ignore both of my obvious paths, failing upon returning home to open a page of either book or on computer screen, and accepting that by my next coffee meet with the Hooded Woman I would have managed to erase all recollection of the questions from my rather liquid memory bank. Hence I find myself at this rather late hour, Orson Wells ‘Falstaff’ having just returned from another night carousing, turning my earlier recorded verbal notations into an attempted addition to the blogosphere. I might add that this in itself is a fraught experience, my recorder only apparently transcribing ‘Merican’ dictation and turning mine own Queens’ into some sort of obtuse scrabble puzzle.
Tangent, tangent tangent, I will try to focus.
Today was indeed a wonderful day for the second day of spring, but an even more remarkably wonderful day for the second day of summertime. Particularly interestingly to me, although we are still within winters cloak, the weather appears to have changed, my feelings seem changed, my ethos is different, effectively life itself had altered due to a mere manually orchestrated blip on the atomic clock. Yes of course all these variables are highly variable, excuse the irony, but my point being that time, its divisions, the way it is perceived is a purely personal phenomenon.
Under controlled conditions, with sufficient patience, it is quite possible to completely realign the minds mental clock, effectively turning night to day and day to night. Time control is a very effective means of thought control, of brain washing, and is commonly used to override or break an individual’s mental defenses. A clear example of the minds inability to cope with time manipulation would-be long-distance air travel, resulting in not only jet lag after the outward flight but a repetition of the same feeling of instability upon the return even after but a few days.
We are all asked at birthdays whether we feel any older, a question that has no logic in reality. A person does not age upon a specific point in the universe’s degeneration any more than they suddenly grow intellectually upon the accomplishment of a successful examination or the handing over a certificate of merit. Yet without question we all acknowledge feeling older annually.
For me it seems that time is not governed by the same rules as any other scientific concept, but is a purely personal experience for each individual, my time is different from your time and your time is different from your brothers or sisters, your mothers or fathers.
We affectively inhabit a little cocoon of her own construct that measures the ever-speeding passage between the beginning of our life and our death very individualistically and very personally.
Perhaps the most important question is not how we define or understand time, but rather how we utilize it most effectively or efficiently. Effect suggests purpose leading to a result negative or positive, efficiency suggest a defined efficacity, which begs a zillion ancillary questions concerning the suitability of the initial and ongoing relationship betwixt ship, prime and auxiliary passengers.
All of my walks are circuitous, as tend to be my internal conversations. In youth I could address a problem, come to a quick and seeming suitable solution, then do my damndest to resolve same to either mine or perhaps if feeling ecumenical the worlds interests. Age tends to thwart such concise activities. I find myself more and more drawn into an endless loop of secondary questions, which in themselves are simply rabbit holes to deep dark warrens of desperation and inconclusion.
I am always amazed but never surprised by the number of confirmed atheists who take confession upon their death beds.