Time, My Dear Friend
Time ebbs, it flows, it bends, and it bows. Time is money. Time is linear. Time is short, and he drags. Time is all and time is nothing. Time is all we were and we are not. Time, is.
Time woke me up this morning. Time decided that he should tell my alarm clock that it was 6:30am, that it was time to pump out Kashmir.
"Oh let the stars beat down upon my face,
stars to fill my dream.
I am a traveler of both time and space,
to be where I have been."
Time giggles when he hears this song, it reminds him of him gone past and the him he may see. Time laughs at me when I curse him and he smiles with pity as he watches me shed the comfort of my dreams. He knows they exist beyond his domain and he yearns to see them. Time has no dreams, nor do dreams have time and for that they are both better off, and worse for wear.
Time watches as I try to escape him. He let's out a sad laugh as I attempt delay the inevitable by watching a kitten chase a laser light. He doesn't laugh at me, he laughs for me. He knows my desire to be this kitten, unencumbered by responsibility to him, ignorant of his passing at every moment. He laughs for me...but continues on.
Time races with me as I attempt to make up for my wasting him. He whispers to me that I took his hand and should never find shame in doing so. Try as I may, I can not listen. For too long have I been manipulated by my human interpretation of him that my truest moments with him get lost in my responsibility to this interpretation. He knows this, of course, but he does not judge, for he knows we mold him to our purpose, whether correct or incorrect. Time doesn't understand why he causes us this pain, nor does he enjoy this fact, he merely continues on.
Time watches as I pass him. He watches as I attempt to understand his purpose, while simultaneously enjoying his passing moments during these days. He wishes he could move faster for me, as I plead with him to do so. He scorns me for not appreciating the gift, but understands how I feel about the current usage. He wishes he could show me his larger purpose, but knows that my search for it will mean more to me than the answer, so he continues on.
Time occupies himself wondering about his measurements while waiting for me to appreciate him again. He wonders what it means to be a millenia, a year, a month, a day, a second. Does this mean he is less than he thought he was? Does this human interpretation of him make him more or less of an entity of life? He laughs heartily at these musings, remembering the reptiles who came before.
They roamed this young planet, assured of their own dominance and BOOM...a comet ended their reign. He hopes this doesn't happen to us, as he feels we have much potential. He hopes that he is around when we realize this potential, as he is quite sure it will be a moment when even he feels life.
Time let's himself slip a bit, venturing into his own existence. He knows we believe he has existed always, hence why we use him as a measurement, but he can remember no beginning. Does this mean he exists? Time laughs again, how human of him to question his own existence while currently existing!
Time hurries back to me as the end of the wasting fast approaches. He sings with me as I progress through shopping for dinner, doing chores, and generally passing him in my own way. He knows this time between he and I is anticipatory in nature, but he enjoys it none-the-less. He enjoys that I see him for what he truly is in these moments...a friend to be cherished.
Then his favorite moment arrives, the time when he is no longer time. He loves this! He loves observing humanity ignore him. He loves watching as we put aside all thoughts of him (other than the hope he won't return). Time knows these moments are fleeting, but seeing humans love each other, seeing them share in their doubt and their courage, this brings him true peace. He knows that these moments signal his true existence far more than those in which humanity spends fretting over him. He knows these moments will determine how much longer he will get to observe us. He knows this, and he is saddened by it all the same.
Time knows there will be pain at his expense and he only hopes we may be able to hang on to the moments in which we ignore his existence so they may continue, for him, immemorial.