As I look back now, a long time seems to span itself behind me, opening up a trench of thoughts that I carry on my back. There is yet another spanning time, a future, actually it is a degree of time where the past is firmer and unmoving, anticipant even. And the present is where the past is producing, recreating, giving itself the chance of a perpetual birth, the perpetual acceleration of a cosmic motion and moreover, perpetually snatching away the suspenseful, concealed children of a continuum. We’re constantly living a history, or involved in its process, for if a thing must already exist, it cannot be born; without harnessing it in theoretical ideas and perception, and giving it the impersonal neutrality that every other dominant living creature demands, we can comprehend Time as less an entity, one that is of the Present. This theory concludes that at one point of time and the nearest possibility of the next point of time that the primary influences, the infinitesimal difference that exists between them, though perfectly dissolved in existence, only and only in theory or any apparent flaw of what part we know of it, is actually a jump and not continuity. Conclusively, we can denote that there is no Present; a human body is unremittingly registering itself to a change between what has been and what must be its consequence. This is suggestive of a stellar rationality where the Present and all its virtues are the irrational.
Thus the individual always lives within a tension and not an equilibrium. The individual then becomes a component of a varying world, instead of a moving one. To confer that a thing is pacing is de facto different from the suggestion that a thing is changing.
Hence, there exists no actual reality, just one back and one forth, compounded by that change in motion that crops between them at a loss of centre. We’re subsisting in that change, in that loss, within a sequence that flanks us. The reality is at the sides; we, the individual, occupy everything else.
To breathe, to feel, to inhabit a living body that further inhabits a living world is not being real. To exist in a moment as a moment, to not be a stretch, to not extend from so to so on, and to not extend at all, but instead simply to be seconds and minutes and days, where these are not elaborate components of time but where time is an elaborate component of the self ?is to understand absolutely that any and all reality is unconditionally perfect and being so, it is finite.
By the conventions, death is real and so is life. Does reality really encompass every aspect, even their differences or conflicts? Not if it’s finite, it doesn’t. Then, how does one become real? Theory cannot answer that and neither can I. Both of us are here to criticize and rebuke and point and laugh. However, we can guess and estimate, and pray we assume correctly.
The answer lies in minimizing oneself. I do not talk of altruism or renunciation of the self, but the most of what that dangerous term suggests literally. Immortality.
To exist is an alternate to not exist at all; the other and only alternate is to exist forever. If there is no such thing as Time, then it shall matter least that a distance be covered either walking or running, if we secure a neutral objective. The goal of all Time is to unalterably extend, and the goal of the individual is to readily exist. If we observe, it is agreeable that neither of them can exchange their natural roles ?Time does not readily exist, and the individual does not unalterably extend (man, and not the individual, as a collective function, does extend, but precariously).
This role of man is not a provision, it is a predicament. If we cannot expand beyond our limits, we must expand within them. A limit that cannot to be stretched, must be first adjusted to, and then, overemphasized. We cannot forge the definite; rather it is safer to forge ourselves. One also cannot amend the unalterable, one must amend instead the arrant idea of one’s relation to it. A willing servitude is more convenient than a reluctant one. We cannot overcome Time, hence we must submit to it more absolutely than our physical selves.
A second is needlessly a second. We need to minimize ourselves to that needlessness; we need to inflexibly subsist in that second. Hence, we’re immortal to the subsequence. We exist better than the last and certain than the next. In the framework of all limitations, if we comply properly, we do preserve an unnoticeable freedom. For the framework of Time, this unnoticeable freedom is reality.
Only inhuman is more than human. It is a law: we cannot be something we’re not partly already. Immortality is not a myth, but like so many things, it is theoretical, not vulnerable to practice. The beauty of existing minimally is that it is not necessary that the individual must only live his age. Sometimes we’re so much older than what years could occupy or foretell. But that is a different tale, for a different time?I guess.
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