May 28, 2013 · 11:59 pm | Edit
Some philosophies and some occult texts claim that there is no such thing as time.(See, for example, the cultish Seth series, by Jane Roberts who claimed to channel an entity named Seth, who spoke often of the nature of time and reality).
How is it then, that we get so bored when we have “too much time ‘on our hands’ “? I am not simply being facetious here. I am once more musing on a (to me) interesting philosophical and existential issue. This common phrase speaks of time and, metaphorically, a reality that can be physically held.
Scientists who have attempted to measure time explain that “a clock that runs at a constant rate — the same number of pendulum swings in each hour — cannot follow the actual sun; instead it follows an imaginary “mean sun” that moves along the celestial equator at a constant rate that matches the real sun’s average rate over the year. This is “mean solar time”, which is still not perfectly constant from one century to the next but is close enough for most purposes.” [Wikipedia, the fount of all knowledge known to man, tells us this. (Thank you Wicca – I mean Wicky).]
There are some arcane philosophers-cum-mystics who claim that everything is happening at the same time. But how does this ‘same macroscopic or microscopic time’ behave? Our time, (which we might reasonably call microcosmic time) is created and measured by man in many ways: The orbit of earth around the sun, phases of the moon and the seasons, and by machines of one sort or another which track more or less regular movement. Thus we have the sundial, the pendulum-driven clock, and the spring and cog meticulous wristwatch, for example.; oh, and that thing that runs on tiny batteries the size of Clonazepam pills (which calm us so that we can live in time more comfortably…. “But I digress…”
These ‘machines’ regulate time according to the needs of man perhaps more than they do an actual moment of autonomous time, (if we can put it that way).By autonomous time, I mean some thing called time that exists per se, disconnected from man-and woman-kinds’ needs, observations and earth’s place in the universe at any given time/space.
At the macrocosmic level, does time exist, any more than up, down or sideways exist? Direction in space and in time cannot exist without a point of reference. We are that reference, which makes both time and space relative; to us.
If earth time and cosmic, non-linear, but very real time were in some fashion synonymous and simultaneous ( which I am convinced they can’t be and are not) we become aware, to some extent, of a nice marriage between the two formerly mutually exclusive time realities. We can do nothing with that, I suppose, but it is nice. [Interestingly, perhaps only to me, the word ‘nice’ at one time ‘back then’ had the meaning of acuteness, of a very subtle, hairline comprehension and articulation of something. My observations are hardly nice, in that way – but they are nice, as in ‘happy.’ The marriage of earth-relative time and cosmic time would show us that time does not depend on us, is not our necessary invention. It would integrate us with the cosmos, as one joins in with the hand-clapping rhythm of a song already being sung.
By the same token, even before indoctrination into this society, and the ‘consensus reality,’ which we all generally accede to, bodily functions all carry on; all of which take place over time: This proves and creates time in and of itself. If there were no time there could be no digestion, no bodily growth, no embryonic development in the womb, no birth and so on. Given that reality, even the most arcane yogi is enveloped by time. Perhaps it is the yogi’s illusion that time does not happen as we witness it to do. We don’t suffer the illusion – the yogi does.
Samuel Johnson responded in the 18th Century, when presented with the argument that reality cannot be proven, “If I kick my foot against a stone and feel it, is this not proof of reality”?
I paraphrase, regarding time. “I inhale and exhale; this, in microcosm, is proof of time’s reality”. If we have nothing to do but breathe, that breathing marks time itself. If this is an illusion, it is a damned stubborn one. I don’t find that boring: Life is literally in my hands. Time and reality become plasticine, as every mystic child intuitively knows.