Monday, March 31, 2008...10:21 am
Time is an Illusion
A dictation of the way every moment feels. There are faces and places that makes my time stop - willingly yet often unwillingly. A lot of people believe that time heals all wounds. I find that it does not. Neither does it dull the pain. And no, it does not make me more forgiving or kind or understanding. It doesn’t help me accept things either. It’s something greater than this movement through life. Something bigger than age.
Age tells your time. And how you look at every age is reflected on your face. But that is really of not much consequence, it is merely a reflection of your time and how you spent it. If you spent it out in the sun experiencing what nature has to offer you will have wrinkles and freckles and darkened skin. But there is a glow that the sun imparts. And the memories of the fish you met while snorkeling in the ocean will make your eyes sparkle when you are old and can snorkel no more.
Time is an illusion which slows to a crawl when there is a bitterness that you cannot seem to let go of. It lasts longer when there is a pain that you subject yourself to repeatedly. I am no masochist. I have no desire for pain. But I bang my head against the wall that was my family again and again hoping for a miracle. When I look in the mirror all I can see is blood trickling down my face in all of its morbidity, I walk back to the wall and start all over again.
Time is an illusion that pretends to make you forget. Because life has so many facets and my brain is too simple to drink it all in, I sometimes think I forgot the pain - until I am faced with a reminder of the awful past and in all vividness it feels like it happened all over again. Time makes you think you can say anything because it can make you disregard the future. But the future always comes and the past always comes back. It’s a never ending cycle and yet in all foolishness people say hurtful things that they later expect to fade in time.
There is a virtual letter that hurts me. And I could pretend to forgive and forget under the pretense of time. But I am no pretender though sometimes I wish I could be so I can mask my truth and have people leave me be. But that is not my life. That cannot be me. The virtual letter is simply light on my screen. In my real world it does not truly exist. It merely floats in cyberspace. To acknowledge it is to feel pain. To pretend I never read it is impossible. The feelings that came with reading it are horrible. And I truly regret opening that letter and reading it. I am tempted to post it so the truth of it may be revealed. But what is the point of revealing a truth the no one wants to see?
Time is an illusion. It makes me think that with age I will be able to come to terms with all the hurt and take it like a man. It cannot dull the pain, it cannot teach me acceptance. But I find that love can.
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