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. 

Reflective compliance and non-compliance

When I was younger I was more compliant, in the sense that I acquiesced to the wishes of others rather than pressure others to do what I wanted. My will did not trump the will of others in many cases. I was like my father, interested in keeping the peace rather than asserting my own will. I'm not sure that was always a good thing, but it doesn't really matter at this point because that's who I was. I didn't really question my behavior, and my compliance did not involve ultra-serious issues, just so that's clear. Over time my compliance has evolved into a more reflective compliance; I may go along with your plans and wishes, but I choose to do so, knowingly and willingly. My compliance is no longer automatic or non-reflective. It's more a compromise with myself; if I do this now, then I will have time for the things on which I wish to focus later on or tomorrow. And I will have that time because I will it. I won't be talked out of it. It may seem selfish to some, but there is a firm desire in me now to follow that little internal voice that tells me to prioritize my goals and dreams and to not waste time. 

Because that is what it comes down to--time. Time is a precious commodity, not to be squandered on valueless things. I have no desire to be an older person who sits in front of the boob tube 24/7, aimlessly switching from one television channel to the next, desperately trying to find something of interest. I refuse to be automatically compliant with advertisers and media pundits who tell me what I should buy, watch, wear, or spend my time on. The point with all forms of entertainment and media--television, movies, radio, newspapers, social media--is to choose carefully when to let them into our daily lives and for how long. It is to choose carefully how much impact you wish them to have on your daily life. My view? Something of interest is right outside your front door. If you have your health, go for a walk in a nearby park, go for a scenic drive, take up a hobby, garden, learn a new language, spend time with a friend, travel, read a good book, or write. Too many people do not have their health, or live each day with diminishing health. Those are the people whom I think of when I consider how to spend the time that God has given me. Good health is not to be taken for granted, it is a gift not to be squandered. Those I know who do not have their health would agree and they tell me that. 

There is one other thing to consider, and that is that if you are constantly being bombarded by what the media and 'well-meaning' people throw at you and insist that you follow or absorb, you will not have the quiet time to reflect and listen to the voice of God trying to reach you. It's hard to hear God in the midst of the cacophony all around us. I have reached the point where trying to discern the voice of God is more important to me than trying to sort through the discordant voices of men. Because it seems to me that discord, divisiveness, ill will and hatred are what drive very many people, and the media reflect that and whip up the masses even more when they get the chance. As do some people whom I call the 'gloom and doomers', the ones who want to start their day (and yours) by filling their minds with all sorts of societal problems and horrors. I refuse to be led by the nose by the different forms of media and the gloom and doomers who do not have my best interests at heart. In the case of the media, their interests are purely monetary, driven by greed. I won't go down their paths. I choose my own path and follow that little voice inside of me, the one that tells me to continue on the path that I have chosen. Of course I know about the problems, I read about them, but I refuse to be compliant in the sense of giving in and giving up, stating that the world is just crappy and I can't do anything about it. I won't do that, not when there still is a lot of good in the world. It's just to seek out the good in the small places where it lives and blooms, away from the media spotlight.

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. 

Feeling imprisoned, feeling free

This past Monday was one of those days when I felt as though I was imprisoned and needed to get out of jail fast. It was a work day, and it wasn't as though anything negative in particular happened to get the better of me. It's just that I reached the point of having had 'enough'. Enough of emails, enough of being stuck indoors, enough of sitting in a sterile office. Enough. It was a lovely day outside, the sun was shining, and temperatures were mild, so around 3 pm I decided to walk home. I plugged in my earbuds, found my playlist of favorite songs, and walked briskly home to the music. I love those days when I can do that. Those days when my body is in sync with the music, when walking is a pleasure (no pain anywhere), when I am singing along to the songs, when my mind soars and carries me back to good times years ago when I first listened to those songs. Born to be Wild, White Room, Badge, Dreadlock Holiday, I'm Not in Love, Get Ready, Out in the Country, Easy to be Hard, Steppin' Out, Winds of Change, Fig Tree Bay, In God's Country, Dream On, Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye, and so many others. Those are just some the songs I listened to when I was writing my term paper for my college Spanish class about the poet Antonio Machado, driving along the highway in a white Trans-am with Jean, skating on the Tarrytown Lakes during winter all those years ago, sitting in my bedroom at home in Tappan Landing, playing chess with my friend's brother, getting ready to go dancing at a club in Manhattan, or talking to my sister about her boyfriend. I remember the feelings generated by those songs, and all I know is that they made me feel free, feel complete. Free to feel, free to love, free to be happy or sad, free to be myself. It sounds cliched, but it's not. It's a truly deep feeling of expansion; I think it is the soul's bid for expression in a world that drowns out all attempts at expression.  

Music transports me to those parts of my heart and soul that are often locked or at least inaccessible on a daily basis. They're hard to reach without music. It's as though the memories are always there, truly real, just waiting for the key in the door to open onto them again. It's as though they exist in a parallel time, which brings me back to one of my many reflections about time. Is it really linear? Sometimes it seems so, other times it seems as though it's circular, or curved here and there. Or that it exists in multiple places, or that time itself exists as multiple past and present moments simultaneously and that we are surrounded by that multiplicity. I don't know. No one does. But I do know that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, and music allows us to expand and soar toward that world.

'Don't know what you've got till it's gone'

I have been a regular subscriber to the weekly news magazine, Time, for at least thirty years, before I moved to Norway and since I moved here. I’ve looked forward each week to Time's news summaries and articles, film, book, music and theater reviews, and interesting tidbits that they toss in from time to time. You might think that it would be a problem to experience regular weekly delivery of Time; I can tell you that it’s been a pleasure to be a subscriber. Not once, I repeat, not once, have I ever had a problem with a missed issue or late delivery. I haven’t had to contact customer service for any problem whatsoever, except to renew my subscription, and that is also a problem-free experience, unlike other magazine and newspaper subscriptions that I have had since I moved to Oslo. That by itself is a miracle in this day and age—a magazine that manages to be timely, punctual, and service-minded.

What bothers me lately is that I’ve noticed that with each issue I receive in the mail, especially during the past half year, the magazine is shrinking. Each issue is thinner than the previous week’s issue. Given the fact that its competitor, Newsweek, stopped publishing the paper edition of its magazine at the end of last year (I refer you to Wikipedia for a more-detailed update: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newsweek), I have begun to wonder if Time is moving in the same direction. I hope this is not the case, but I have a gut feeling that it is. The end of the paper editions of these magazines doesn’t mean their total demise; in the case of Newsweek, they decided to focus their energies on an all-digital format, meaning that the internet has claimed yet another victim, in one sense. I don’t have a problem with internet; if used well and if you can filter through the morass of information that is available at every turn, you can in fact obtain a lot of useful information in the blink of an eye. I need only think of Wikipedia as I write this—useful, informative, updated, with mostly correct information (and they are honest about the ‘holes’ in their summaries, about what is lacking, and that’s a good thing). But there is something about opening the print issue of a magazine like Time when I get it, sitting down on the couch with a cup of coffee and reading it from cover to cover. I enjoy that very much; it’s not the same sitting down with my Kindle for iPad and reading the issue that way, even though I read books that I’ve downloaded on my Kindle for iPad from time to time. It’s just that I don’t want to see the end of all print publications, be they books or magazines.

And that brings me to my final point; with fewer books and magazines printed, there will be more bookstores that will go belly-up. One of the major American book retailers, Barnes and Noble, is struggling and on the verge of collapse, according to a recent article from Slate (http://www.slate.com/blogs/moneybox/2013/02/14/barnes_noble_collapsing.html), and that makes me sad to read. Very sad. I have fond memories of the many hours spent in their bookstores; starting when I worked part-time as a stocker for a company on West 13^th Street in lower Manhattan during my graduate school days, and would spend my lunch hours perusing the bookshelves of the Barnes and Noble bookstore at 122 Fifth Avenue between 17th and 18th streets. I bought many a Christmas present there as I remember. And then later on, during the mid-1980s, when I would drive up from the Bronx where I lived at that time, to their bookstore on Central Avenue in Yonkers and wander around there for a few hours on a summer evening, looking at photo books of Princess Diana (who was all the rage then), or skimming books on why women are afraid of success in the business world, how to make your relationship better, or the meaning of dreams, in the self-help section. Those were weekly trips that I looked forward to, and I always left the store with one or two new books that I couldn’t wait to dive into. In later years, when I have visited my sister in upstate New York during the summer, we have had some fun driving to the Barnes and Noble bookstore in Poughkeepsie, where we would start off our visit with cappuccinos in the little café at the back of the bookstore. We would sit and chat for a while, and then wander the aisles in search of a book that would catch our eye. It was always fun to compare our current literary interests, talk about the books we had read or were reading, check out the different games and puzzles for sale, and so on. Sometimes my husband would call me from Norway while we were wandering around the store; we would be laughing at some silly thing, and he would get a chance to join in on the fun. Simple stuff, but simple stuff is the stuff of memories. Bookstores generally, and Barnes and Noble specifically, have been and are a large part of my life. I cannot imagine life without them. As Joni Mitchell sings ‘Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone’. But sometimes even when you do know, things disappear anyway, replaced by newer things, but in some cases, more sterile things. I will never be attached to a computer the way I have been attached to my books. And that’s not likely to change in my lifetime. 

The gift of time

I’ve been enjoying the preparation time for the Christmas holiday, as I always do. There is something about Advent, the spiritual preparation for Christmas, as well as the material preparations in the form of purchases of gifts and food. I am always reminded of how privileged we are at this time of year especially. We have what we need and more. It is actually becoming quite difficult to know what to tell others when they ask what I want for Christmas. And that is true of very many people I know. We don’t really need much more than we have in the materialistic sense. Of course it’s always nice to give and to receive gifts—that’s part of the holiday spirit and what the season is about—but it’s not about how much gifts cost. It’s the thought that counts; we think of others and they think of us. My colleagues and I exchange small gifts each year (we’ve been doing this for years now)—spice tea, Christmas candy, small Christmas decorations, candle-holders, and the like. There have also been a lot of get-togethers with friends this month; I’ve preferred these personal gatherings to the impersonal Christmas work parties, which are usually too large and too loud. Always nice to get together for dinner for a few hours with good friends, or for a coffee break--with time to indulge in good conversation, something that is worth gold in these days of quick efficient communication and rushed activities.  

The gift of time. If we manage to give that to each other, we’ve accomplished something of worth. I think it is the best gift we can give each other. To know that someone wants to take the time to meet us, to spend a few hours with us, to go deeper than surface conversation—those are amazing gifts. I think more people need to know that they are valued by others. Unfortunately, sometimes even in the best of circumstances, there are some who do not feel worthy of the attention of others. They are good people, special people, kind people, but they suffer from lack of self-confidence that holds them back and makes them choose what is often not good for them. I can think of two instances where this is the case, both involving young people. My hope for them is that the warmth of the Christmas season seeps into them and makes them truly understand how much they are loved. 

The gift of time

Christmas is the season of many gifts, but it is not the material gifts that matter most. What matters most is the gift of time—making time for others but also for ourselves--visiting good friends, picking up the telephone to call friends and family, writing some Christmas cards—in a nutshell, remembering and even prioritizing others, some of whom may be sad, lonely, frustrated or just a bit down, and who may perk up a bit because you got in touch with them. Christmas can make us feel a bit down sometimes; especially when it seems as though everyone else around you is happy except you. It is a family holiday, but if you have no family to speak of, or if you and your family are estranged, what then? Where do you go if you are alone without family? If friends don’t invite you to their homes, do you sit alone and wallow in past memories that will only make you sadder? Do you force yourself to go out and celebrate Christmas with other folks who are alone and perhaps lonely?

Life is short. This can never be emphasized too often for me. Time is a gift. To have the time to read a good book, write, work on a hobby, be with family and friends, talk on the phone, visit an older person who may be alone, spend time with a child who enjoys your company—all those things are gifts, not only to others but to ourselves. Our souls grow and expand when we nourish it in these ways, likewise our hearts. In the final analysis, it is not how many hours we spent at work that will count when we are old. No one will care when we are eighty years old that we worked sixty hour-weeks. No one will remember that we did so. If you love your work, you are lucky, but I also think that those who truly love their work are also those who understand the work-life balance. They understand the blessings that they have been given—they treasure those blessings and respect them. There are many reasons to work overtime for years on end or to constantly tell others that you are so busy at work that you didn’t have time to call or write or get in touch. Sometimes it may just be about not wanting to go home—to an unhappy home, to an empty apartment, or to the overwhelming quiet that will cause one to reflect on one’s life and on what may be wrong with it. Sometimes overworking is simply an excuse to not face up to the changes that need to be made in our lives. Overwork is a panacea, and can be used as a drug to dull the pain of an unlived life, or a life lived in the shadows or under a ‘bushel basket’. Let’s make 2012 the year that we step out from under the bushel basket and shine our light out to the world, the year when we show the world that we love ourselves enough to share our time, talents, love and compassion, the year when we make time for others. The world will be a better place for it. 

Until you value yourself

Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.    (M. Scott Peck)

I posted some little pearls of wisdom from the psychiatrist M. Scott Peck recently, but it is this particular quote that has stayed with me since then, so I know that it struck a chord in me. I have been preoccupied with this very thing since I started my blog in May of 2010—the idea that my time is valuable, that it is worth something and that it is important to use it well. Some of you may be thinking that this sounds strange. Didn’t I value myself and my time before then? The answer is yes, I did, but I often lived in an unaware state, perhaps thinking that I had all the time in the world to do this or that, to change my life, to pursue this or that hobby, or to get involved in this or that cause. But now I know better. Life is short. And my saying this is not about my being unduly or morbidly focused on mortality and a certain end, although that would be a good enough reason in and of itself to get up and get moving on the things I want to do and accomplish before I leave this life. It’s about being focused on living, on being a part of life, in all ways possible. It’s about living now and giving and getting as much out of life as is humanly possible. It’s about getting up off the couch and not watching too much TV or sitting in front of the computer for too long, it’s about not buying into everything that is written in the newspapers or in magazines, it’s about thinking for yourself and valuing your own ideas and creativity. It’s about not letting work take over your life to the exclusion of your family or your creativity. It’s not necessarily about parachute jumping or extreme sports (unless you really want to do that!—I don’t). But I do want to step up to my own plate—be present in my own life, be aware of the opportunities and freedoms that have been given to me. Because they are not few, I have realized that. We are given so many opportunities each day to be present to ourselves and to others. The question is whether we stay aware during our daily lives, or if we just end up doing things by rote, living according to worn-out routines, and not doing anything about it. There is comfort in old routines, that must be said, and I am not for discarding all of them just for the sake of doing so. But it’s important to figure out when to let go of things that don’t work for us anymore or when to let go of certain people who drag us down because they don’t want you to rise because it means that they might have to. And by letting go I mean, putting things and people in their rightful places and rising above their petty concerns, envy and negativity, not necessarily pushing them out of our lives completely. And that takes a change of mindset. It may not mean quitting your demoralizing job if you cannot for economic reasons, but it may mean separating yourself mentally from that job and rising above it in order to survive mentally and emotionally. It may mean a radical change in how you look at that job. It may mean a radical change in how you look at the people in your life as well. There are always some few people who are naysayers no matter what you do and say; instead of letting them get the better of you, just let go of their words. Don’t give their words any power over you. It is amazing how easily that can happen, almost as though there is a little person who lives inside each of us just waiting to be fed the negative words. We suck up the validation of ourselves as ‘not good enough’; we suck up the negativity and feel as though we deserve it--deserve the derision, negative comments, hostility, aggression or envy. We think that if we rise, it has to be at the cost of the happiness of others. It’s not true. This is negativity at work—this is what happens when we do not value ourselves. Because if we do not value ourselves and if we let the negativity in ourselves and from others win over us, we will not think about our time as something to be valued, and we will remain passive observers in our own lives because it will be easier not to rock our own boats or the boats of others.