Feb 10, 2010

Time has no meaning. Where I am is simply where I am. There was no yesterday there is no tomorrow. It all simply slips away. Everything moves around me in ways I cannot fathom or control. But who wants that kind of control. Sometimes I wonder if God looked down at His creation and said they have become stupid, will they ever be any different or did the fruit taint them? Was it perhaps bad? Was there something mixed into my creation that I was not aware of? Or maybe I over reached. Mankind is foolish.

There used to be days when life would touch me and carry me along with it, but as I have grown older that happens less and less. Like a stone that has become embedded in the bottom of the river, a river no longer strong enough or perhaps willing enough to carry me along with it. Or perhaps it has realized that I am not a part of it and so leaves me to see the path for myself. I used to visit times that were in my past as easily as reading a book, or watching a movie. It was all there, the sights the sounds, emotions would play themselves out for me once again. Thoughts would drift through my mind, two, one from then and one from now. It was strange, but that is memory. Or at least mine. Mine was like reliving it all over again, even if it was a dream I had. There are still times when I can still do this trick, for that is what I always thought it was. I didn’t realize until I was much older that not everyone could do this, that what I could do was very different from how most other people remembered things. I relived things. For me, life has been like a much read book where some parts are memorized, yet slightly imperfect because there is so much data to recall. Then there are the odd times when I recall something that is not of my memory, nothing about my life. Times when I see or hear something happening here and now, but very far away, or something that has happened, but not to me, or something that will happen. Some things in life make a very strong impression on the world. Emotions tattoo themselves everywhere and some are so strong they can never be removed, but echo through time to every age over and over again until some sensitive soul picks it up and weeps for them. Whether they be happy, sad or angry. So for me time does not exist. It is something manmade like the bricks of the house, and the looking glass we use to view ourselves, or a facsimile of ourselves. What we look like to ourselves in our minds may not resemble what the looking glass shows any more than how ten, or twenty or a hundred different people might see us. My ears hear what others might not because I try to listen to what mankind does not like to hear. The heartbeat of the Universe, the heartbeat of God. I will not go so far as to say I hear his thoughts, but is not so difficult to hear the thoughts of mankind. They are loud and boastful. They only become tender towards the end, if we have made peace with eternity.

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