1/9/12

collapsing rhythms of open air. time is no longer a passage as it existed in the time of children, rather now an entity of fluid motion, projecting toward the future; recoiling; interlacing braids of seasons, days, orbital cycles, tides and cloud formations. everything we knew to belong to the past may arise at any short second on the tip of ones tongue as some fresh lament, as compelling and rich as a thought just crafted. and the coming hours, so vague in their distance, well beyond the admission of our minds, are as good to us as time forgotten; moments lapsed; and will disperse before our fingers, trembling, never to come at ease with the reality of loss; the truth in the deception of our years. as a child i knew i would grow and i would die, as a plant might, nothing more. i understood the complexity of time only in that it provided the challenge of mortality; a gentle arm nudging me further from the safety of birth toward the palpitant uncertainty of death. what i failed to appreciate was the power the mind may yield in its relationship with the seconds and minutes and days that proceed me; its ability to warp and confuse, distort and destroy. the games it considers just; the things chosen to remember, selected to forget. under this light the importance of a clock on a wall, a watch on a wrist, appear almost elementary, if one is to realise in its capacity that to the human perception of time and space these objects of mans conception are entirely expendable; nothing more than devices flagged at our service, instilling the false reality that we can, or ever will obtain the power to, determine the passage of time.