Time as a wheel with spokes

Time is a strange thing. We experience it as linear, as a continual forward progression, and in a major sense it is. But it also seems circular to me--like a wheel with spokes. My experience with time is that it can be all-encompassing; it surrounds me, as though I am in the center of a circle from which spokes radiate out. At the end of those spokes are specific experiences that envelope me. The straight lines that are those spokes are the chronological events leading to those ends. But they could just as well be wavy spokes, or spokes with spikes poking out every which way. The spikes could be detours along the way or interesting experiences in and of themselves, leading to the ends. I think more and more that time is circular; that the individual experiences of each individual person are connected, that they radiate out from a center (the person in question) but that they meet and form the wheel of time that defines one person's life. The spikes may stick out in all directions from the spokes; they may be long or short. In this way we can interact with others during our lives. 

I wondered if others have pondered this view of time, so I googled 'time as a wheel with spokes' and the first link that was returned was the 'Wheel of Time' on Wikipedia (Wheel of time - Wikipedia). Apparently a number of religions subscribe to the concept of time as cyclical, including Hinduism, Jainism, Sikhism, and Buddhism. But I didn't really find any discussion of spokes and spikes. It seems to me that as we age, we accumulate more spokes, so that eventually the spokes begin to interact with each other, begin to touch each other, begin to crowd each other. Perhaps the spikes from each spoke meet the spikes from the other spokes and form 'ladders'. Perhaps that explains the feeling of being enveloped, of being surrounded by multiple experiences. Perhaps this is what is meant by the feeling that we have coexistent 'parallel lives'; not lives at all, but parallel experiences that eventually interact with each other or join each other. In this way, time seems to be more fluid. At least it doesn't feel solid to me; I don't experience it that way. 

I am curious (and always have been) about time because sometimes I experience what I call  'the ache across time'. The ache across time is the knowledge that somewhere out there is an experience of time that has touched us deeply, that has passed, that will never come again, but one that we remember perfectly. It is an ache for what will never come again in exactly that way--be it times together with loved ones, the experience of the beauty of the natural world, or a book or song that touches us. The ache is a part of us, ingrained in our time memory. We remember those times and experiences as though they happened yesterday. The spikes on our wheel spokes have interacted with the spikes of other people, floating in the vast expanse of the universe. Perhaps our wheels have attached to them via the spikes and become entangled. 

I like this view of time. It's intensely personal but interpersonal as well. It can account for that feeling of parallel lives, and can be modified to suit different situations. I asked Bing's AI chatbot to draw me a wheel with spokes that have spikes, but it really didn't return a satisfactory drawing. It did return four actual photos of wheels with spokes, but no spikes attached to the spokes. I'll have to work on drawing one myself. I'm not sure how the people in my life view time or if they reflect on it at all; I've had some interesting discussions with my husband about time some years ago, but mostly in regard to how time is viewed according to the theory of general relativity, which is not at all my forte. I think it's interesting, but I hit the wall immediately when I tried to understand the mathematics underlying the principles of physics. I am more comfortable residing in the realm of sci-fi and fantasy where such things are concerned. 

Memories and the concept of time

Twenty years ago today, March 4, 2001, my mother passed away. Thirty-six years ago, March 7, 1985, my father passed away. Twenty years ago and thirty-six years ago. It seems so long ago, these parcels of years, and yet sometimes they seem like artificial constructs to help me locate my memories. They contribute to the reality of memory. Sometimes the past seem so real, as though it is right there in front of me. The people in that past are gone, but the memories of them are not. The memories are vivid and real. The concept of time and the reality of memory are intertwined. I cannot explain the connection, but I don't think one exists without the other. It is when I begin to consider and reflect upon memory, that I also begin to reflect upon the concept of time. No one can or has satisfactorily answered the question--what is time? We say that time is linear, because it apparently keeps moving us forward. But is it really linear? The Oxford online dictionary defines time as the "indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole". It's a vague definition, but it's a starting point for reflection. 

It was not until I started working in a garden that I became aware of the reality that time is also circular. Or perhaps better put, a garden manifests circular time within the human concept of linear time, if that is possible. Our gardens have no memory, they just do what they do independent of the human concept of linear time. A gardener plants seeds, watches them grow into mature flowers that produce seeds, the annual flowers die, become compost and then soil again, which is used for next season's garden, as are the seeds. It's a cycle that continues annually in perpetuity, starting in spring, continuing into summer and fall, then winter, and then back to spring. It can continue in this way for many years, given the right conditions. Perennial plants come back each year barring a natural disaster--the same plant, just new stems and new growth. The actual plants don't really die. It's the closest thing to immortality that we may be witness to on this earth. Do we know why they come back, year after year? Apparently there is no specific lifespan for plants, except for the annuals. The annual plants must be seeded anew. But eventually, even perennial plants die, as do our house plants that can live for decades given the right conditions. Death comes to all living things. 

I remember my parents, sitting in their living room in the apartment where I grew up, reading in the evenings. I remember my mother feeding the birds from her kitchen window each morning. I remember eating breakfast before we left for school, listening to 'Rambling with Gambling' on the radio. I remember commuting to and from Manhattan for several years with my father, and meeting him for lunch in Manhattan. I remember my father's illnesses and knowing we would lose him; I 'saw' and 'knew' the future. I remember shopping with my mother and driving around lower Westchester County with her on one of our many fun car rides. I remembering seeing a future without her and how painful it would be to lose her too. I remember my brother, who is dead six years as of this writing. I did not 'see' his death coming. They have been dead for many years, but they remain in my memory. All those memories of beloved people, places and experiences co-exist. And that is what I wonder about. Memories are dependent upon functioning brain neurons that transmit electrical signals to other neurons via synapses. Without neurons and neural networks, there are no memories. Plants do not have neurons, so they do not have memories, and so no concept of time, or none that they are 'aware' of. We have them, and so we have memories. But how and where are those memories truly situated in time? Or can we even ask those questions?

There are some physicists who theorize that time as we know it is not real, that it is simply a construct devised to help us differentiate between the present and our perception of the past. The 'block universe' theory, as their theory is called, can be summarized as follows. "The theory, which is backed up by Einstein’s theory of relativity, states that space and time are part of a four dimensional structure where everything that has happened has its own coordinates in spacetime" (Time is NOT real – Physicists show EVERYTHING happens at the same time | Science | News | Express.co.uk). In this theory, all our past experiences co-exist simultaneously with all our present and future experiences. If that is the case, there is no 'time', at least not as we define it. Stated in a different way: "Your birth is out there in space-time. Your death, too, is in space-time. Every moment of your life is out there, somewhere, in space-time. So says the block universe model of our world" (The block universe theory, where time travel is possible but time passing is an illusion - ABC News). What made the strongest impression upon me from the second article was reading that "Everything is relative: what is past to you, will be future to someone else. So if I travel back to the past I'm travelling to what is someone else's future. That means the past won't be any different, in kind, to the present." 

My brain seems able to grasp these concepts, however briefly. But they are also confusing. The philosophy and science involved in these concepts can seem overwhelming. In the end, they are mysteries that may or may not be elucidated in my lifetime. I hope however that they will be. I also hope that one day there could be time travel between the coordinates in the block universe. How cool that would be, to be able to visit 'a past moment with loved ones who are now gone', or even in another context, visit a 'future you'. How that would come to pass is anyone's guess. I don't see it happening for several more centuries. And yet sci-fi writers have written about time travel for years. They could visualize the future, at least one they 'saw', and committed that vision to paper. We who exist now were the future to their present, but we are also the past to someone else. It makes sense, and then it doesn't. But I like the idea that all the constructs of time exist equally and simultaneously.