I cannot excerpt in bits and pieces what is going on at The Great Lettuce Head and Wanderlust, except to say that if you’re interested in time and space, go read their recent entries.
Neha just turned twenty-two two days ago, and Steve is driven by demons, both are in pursuit of intellectual understanding of life and meaning, and in particular, time and space. Once again, the peaceful mind is poked, the troubled one is further weighted. At three a.m., I didn’t want to get involved, but these are friends, albeit quite annoying with their quest, and unfortunately, the harder I tried to ignore them, the more I thought, and thought and thought. Fortunately, I came up with some answers, and more importantly, The Question, and luckily, it has survived the sunlight, so shall serve me for the day. Night is the time for thinking clearer thoughts; the darkness blotting out the world beyond incandescence, and that’s a big help right there.
Does time exist? Apparently not, except as a measurement. Just as the existence, which is accepted use only, of an inch. If you measure from here to here, it’s an inch. It’s also a nanosecond.
“The past is either a physical object (a photograph, a fossil, a building) or it’s created in the form of story, recalled and told.” So says Steve at GLH. Inspired by this, Neha questions past, present and future, and comes very close to the answer: “Every night I find myself wondering …whether … anything at all will ever matter.”
I disagree that there are no answers. I believe there are millions, or maybe, only 37, like the story plots. Questions are in the millions as well, but there’s really only one that it all comes down to, regardless of the facts, the goings on, the bigger picture, or the quest for knowledge. The question forms the answers and leads us on to a conclusion that is different for each of us, but whatever we come up with is the most vital to our understanding and peace of mind. The Question is repeated until we reach a temporary end. The answers, and the questions we use to seek them always change, except for one:
The Question: So?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Right. So…why? So…what? So…then what? Unfortunately, our front brain makes us ask these questions. Sigh. So we gotta have an answer. And oh, brother, do we have answers!
Yeah. I particularly like, and often hate, “So what?” But it does tend to make one argue and thus confirm or needfully abandon one’s position.