Monday, August 1, 2011
And I never was nor ever will be
This post card fascinates me, entrances me, captivates me. It was only a century and a few months late in arriving. On its back, in pencil, these words are written:
"With best wishes from your loving father in the year 1911."
Voices call to me from the past. Echoes from a thousand years ago still drift on the wind for me to hear. Written words from a century ago mysteriously find their way into my hands, somehow arrive and are visible before my eyes. "Do you remember me?" they demand, they beg, they simply wonder. Yes, I think I do. Yes, I really believe that I do. There is no time behind me or beyond me. I am time. All right. Enough jabbering. With apologies to Lord Krishna, or to whomever wrote the Bhagavad Gita, for being the dialectic opposite of your thought:
My apologies .... well, maybe .... sort of ....
What is time?
Where is time?
Who is time?
I have all the time in the world;
Nay, all the time in the universe,
For time is but an instant and,
Yet, an eternity.
My life is both
Yet, it is neither, for my life is
But a dream,
And I never was nor ever will be,
For I am time, only a wisp of
Imagined memory beyond tomorrow.