about time

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.”

Albert Einstein


“The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.”

Henri Bergson


time: physics or philosophy?

.

with arrows through the heart

blue messenger fire cuts
through soundless weather

as visions aflame
touched by eyes
suck in sights
create images
penetrate soul

expand the sky
with sheer
glance

(while we

with arrows through the heart
run

along the horizon

dancing
along the tightrope

of the apparent line

of transition)

Time and us

"Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today." (Friedrich Nietzsche)

musings:

the past contains the being of what has been,
which must not be reduced to what we remember;
for what has been and, without leaving discernible traces,
has been forgotten by everyone,
has been nevertheless,
and will forever have BEEN

but

if the past is not of irrevocable nature,
if its unalterability is changing by the history we tell,
and we can make it whatever we want -
then memories of the past might be desires of the future,
and preceding experiences might be nothing but dreams
and possibilities still to come

but

if there is something like fate,
if the way we walk is already marked,
linear, predestined,
then past and future are timewise equivalent and
as much real as the NOW,
all of them existing at the same time

but

a simultaneous existence in time
throws us back to the only reality we have:
the NOW in an empty space,
and we are creating our way
with every step we take.

future solely comprises possibilities;
it can either be understood as a homogenuous continuation
of the past being, or as an empty space
for whatever may come -

as an unlimited open space of potentialities
before the present decision,
restricted to the logical consequences of our actions,

or as a determined part of a predestined fate,
traced out ever since,
no matter what we do.

but it could also be pure arbitrariness,
sheer coincidence,
in the void of the illusions of time.

and presence!

the moment of our only true meeting with the world,
the moment of our ascent towards being by means of freedom -

what the world is and what i am
might be a result of the past, or
of my imagination, or of a strange chance,
or even of fate;

but what i can make it, hic et nunc, is depending on nobody
but myself, is coming into being
through myself, an absolute presence created
by myself.

crossways through time towards this flash of light:
the moment that is eternity.

ascension

we roam the ancient trails
among wheels spinning
around and around
as we speak and wonder
and wander and write our ashes
into millenium mornings
of struggle and hope

we veer round we
crumble in
we stand there
again
breathing
in the newborn sun

listening
to the first word that
tears the page

to the silent hallelujah

as we stretch
towards an ascension

exposing ourselves

waiting
among fragments
of the sky

In slow motion

Shadows

shadows cradled
by a phantom sun
smouldering through
this wafting steam

the resounding realm
of dreaming light
echoed in mist
echoed in white

wandering quantum land cat

we are all
schrödinger's cats
waiting for the box to open

howling in the dark
screaming into the ambiguity
of our existence

yearning for and dreading
the certainty of what we are

waiting for someone to free us
from the prison
of endless possibilities

someone who lifts

the lid above us
and lets the blue floodlight
of the moon fall upon us

to grant us

the mercy of knowing
if we are alive or dead

choice

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Free

sitting on our floe
we smoothe our iced place
among the crystals of snow
upholster it with moss
and cant our song
carefully

until one day we grow wings
and leave that lichen nest

singing out loud

those pinions
free

light and colour

light
is the radiating
flowing ur-substance
is pure consciousness
is living, seeing energy

when consciousness manifests itself
it becomes radiance and seeing,
subject and object,
and out of the energy of its
inherent creative wisdom
it creates the whole universe
in the act of refraction and condensation

creation is projection and refraction
of a ray of consciousness
into the limited form of
time and space

and just as light is the ur-image
of the all-permeating consciousness,
colour is is the reflection
and expression of life

life
welling up from the depths of
universal consciousness
reflected on the world's surface

just as the soul, colour is
the connection between material
and spiritual world

light, darkness and colour -
a trinity just as spirit
body, soul

colour mirrors the struggle of the soul
with the forces of light
and darkness

it shows its tension and motion
its searching, longing and joy;
harmony and conflict, sadness and enlightenment,
purity and impurity

colours are the

"deeds and sorrows of light",
as goethe says

soul reflects colour
colour reflects soul

they pour into each other
without end
or beginning

the wanderer

diving into past and branches
i find the word among pebbles
at the bottom of a creek
sleeping
in restless water
speckled with light

i dip my hand into the flow

kneeling on mosaic rock
sliced with shade and
scarred with snow

i bow
where moss
and centuries
grow

The River Rose

The river rose in the night, flooding the piles of time washed ashore. In this dream I stood in the wild light of moonshine and shadows, watching the alluvial years and matter being washed away. The river rose and gave company to my released yelling, purifying what I really was.

I saw the crow watching me, then flying away, leaving a crow-shaped hole in the air for all the rivers in the world to flow through. White lunar heat surrounded me, though I knew it should be cold. Cold, because it was night and the river was rising. Cold, because my planet was washed away. Cold, because of the waters curing the bed of my river. But it was warm, getting warmer, and the sky was tempestuous and wild. And a silver thrill filled out my moonlit dream and an inexplicable knowledge emerged, frozen by morning.

This night I woke to find the full moon shining onto my face. And I lay smiling within the warmth of my own shadow that had become a bed for me.

mirror

eye to
eye --

thought
reflected;
this facing
of sides.
different visions
shape the eye .
i see clearly.
can no-one
touch a horizon?
find a mirror!

m i r r o r

mirror a find;
horizon, a touch.
no-one can clearly see.
i eye the shape visions --
different sides of
facing this
reflected
thought;

eye
to eye.

luna

at night the moon
is so bright, a pulling of light, low
on the horizon - and she touches my face
and with a silver embrace her glow
finds my dream; white is her gleam,
her wondrous delight wandering
so slow through my soul
until i widen.