Got No Reason, Got No Rhyme
Author: Shiloh


I guess maybe there is some reason for something to kind of gnaw at you, back in the back of your mind… something that seems to not be finished, not quite done, that you feel responsible for completing, but you just don’t know what the hell it is that you should do about it, or even what it is.

It’s a bit like waiting for the other shoe to fall.
….It is late, and I should be sleeping.
….It is late, and I should have accomplished so much by now.
….It is late, and I wonder if it is too late?

Somewhere there is an answer to every question that I can think up, but first I have to ask the question, then I have to be smart enough to recognize the answer when it is right there, in front of me.

That takes time. And I don’t know if I have the time I need. I guess you never have enough time, no matter if you are a newborn, or if you care, or don’t care, about how much time you may have, or even if you just accept what is handed to you by the gods, by Fate, by the elements, by Yahweh, by Manitou, by The Great Spirit, by the bum on the park bench that no one will sit next to…

Time is a funny concept.
Time is something that man came up with to mark the passage of time; there had to be some way to account for the space of daylight and darkness, between sunrise and sunset, between birth and death.

Anniverary, noon, Sunday, breakfast, birthday, Christmas Day, an appointment in court, dentist appointment, doctor’s appointment, automobile registration, morning classes, the Junior Prom, the day Grampa died, Spring, Winter, youth, old age, retirement, workday, night, all are markers in our personal accounting of time.

There are so many markers that we file away, that we pass by without really noticing, but they are there. We have special meanings for them. They come and they go, and they will come again, sometimes.

The span of life is divided by centuries, by decades, by years, and the years by months, the months by weeks, the weeks by days. It all comes under the umbrella of eons. Days number the years, the months, the weeks. Days are broken into hours, the hours to minutes, the minutes to seconds. Science has further broken time down to smaller measures of time. Why? Other than to come up with more names for tiny bits of time, no one really knows. Or cares.

Time is measured on a clock, a watch, an hourglass, a sundial. It is measured by the arc of the bright orb in the sky, the by arcs of the stars in the night. Seasons and great measures of time, decades and hours and weeks and minutes passing slowly and time going by quickly…

You can take time, you can waste it. You can make time count, you can account for your presence during it with markers. You can try to accomplish something during it, you can try to accomplish some particular thing in a certain amount of it. You can wish you had more of it, or that it would pass more quickly than it seems to be passing, as in waiting for winter to end.

We do not truly understand time, or what it is for us, what it can be for us.

Time is decidedly a very funny sort of concept, and I don’t believe that I ever read anything by Einstein which explained, in lay-mans’ terms, but we take it for granted, and we take it very seriously.

To be incarcerated, time can be a punishment. To one who is edging toward death, time can be a torture. To those left behind by the dead passing, time can be a blessing or a burden, or a comfort or an agony.

To an unborn child, time can be a collection of chemical reactions that form a life with a personality add a mindset and an attitude and emotions and the ability to think and feel and be afraid to do noble things, or things less than great, but the simple fact remains that in time, the baby will grow to the child, to the youth, to the young adult, to the older adult, to the aged, then to the incapacitated and finally to return to the earth… full cycle, and what is done from the beginning to the end will be another sort of measure.

It takes time to sit here and write these lines. Time is used in thinking, in trying to figure how to phrase things, even in just sitting here, hitting the keys in response to whatever flows through my mind.

Time is. Everything revolves around it.

They say this world has been in existence for a certain amount of time. The religions of the world say that this world was created by a supreme being, in a certain amount of time, but they are uncertain how time may have been measured by that supreme being. Certainly the time of God is not the same as the time of Man?

Time is awfully damn powerful.

It is more powerful than explosions from within the bowels of the earth, where molten lava gives strong meaning to the image of hell. It is more powerful than the tornado or the hurricane that destroys everything in it's path. It is more powerful than all the armies of the world. More powerful than the Pope, than the President, than the King or Queen or the dictator. More powerful than a simple thought, and a thought can be mighty powerful.

But all of the above stop, at some point in time. Time, however, does not stop. It continues, and will always be. Even if we cease to be, time will still continue.

Eventually our world will be used up, we will be used up, even if we find other worlds to inhabit… eventually we will be gone. We will not even be a memory, because there will be no one left to remember.
But time will still continue to pass.
Even our God cannot control time.


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