One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste–
The Stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing–Oh, make haste!
MY VERY MOST ABSOLUTELY
favouritist of them all, the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (may his tribe increase~!) as translated by one Edward Fitzgerald (him <——) is a poem of significant length, infinite wisdom, many observations, apt commentary … and predominantly covers many aspects of Time itself.
TIME AFTER TIME
(ouch) he uses allusions and blatant discussion of time. The poem has a feeling of fatalistic urgency about it—hell, if you’re not interested in the wisdoms of the dead sages (or if you’re too Christian to be allowed to be ‘contaminated’* by them) this post is not for you; pass on, Friend.
AND NOW, RATHER
than get drawn into irresolvable arguments of philosophy, science, belief and other such gubbinses—I’ll explain my photos.
And then post them …
This first one you’ll have seen before. Everyone takes shots like it. But consider the mechanics of ‘time’ involved—I set the tripod up, perched the camera on top and awaited the truck. Seeing lights in peripheral vision I triggered three quickie snaps, the first caught just an approaching nothing, the second an approaching glow, the third was one and a half seconds of time boiled down to an encapsulating quick look—
The red streaks are the brake lights as he slows for the bend in the road up ahead and the increasing opacity of the truck occulting the pub behind also shows his reducing speed. One-decimal-six seconds, and you are seeing all of it at once~!
a different take on the topic. You’ve seen this before but I make no apologies, it fits—
—it be a model tractor in a shop window (Hayes Hammer Hardware in Invercargill—both a retail premise and hobby-museum of technology) (I love it~!). Time?
It’s an artefact, no? But more than that—it’s a three dimensional cross section of a four dimensional object; made to illustrate its subject’s own period. It is, in fact encapsulated time. Boom boom! Time, talent, vision and effort … I could never have made one like it.
TIME is mute and unchangeable. Time is literally the icky-gooey fabric of the universe itself. No time = no universe. No?
But paradoxically time doesn’t exist. Can’t exist. But: we can measure it (what else is a clock for, hmmm?).
Clock? Was there ever a good clock, an accurate clock—?
When I was a lad and no-one had a watch we used to tell the time with these dandelion-clock things—a puff would remove some of the feathers, and we’d blow away, counting puffs until the doodle in the middle that holds the feathers was denuded—at which point we’d know the time.
I stopped trusting them that once when I reached 32 o’clock (was seeing spots by then anyway) and the damn’ thing still had feathers …
To close we’ll borrow a snippet from Taoism or Zen or some other bugger (I can’t be bothered looking it up) —
Yet therein something moves,
Following its own course.
IS THAT ‘TIME’ … OR WHAT?
* My understanding is that Fitzgerald was (early on) a Christian himself—but surprisingly for his era not a closed mind one. He appreciated Truth in preference to dogma. Often. Eventually he became disenchanted with (and departed from) his birth-religion. And we scored the Rubaiyat …