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4. IN CLOCK TIME
Seeing
what people do to each other in the River of Time, it felt strange to be back
home where life went on as usual. In ways I could not tell, nothing was the
same.
The
other day, after coming home from school, I went up to my room and could hardly
believe my eyes how messy it was! The bed unmade for days, worn socks and tops
all over the place, books and papers piled on the desk collecting dust. I
started cleaning up the mess—picked up things off the floor, fluffed out the
quilt, emptied the trash can, vacuumed the room, and worked late into the night
setting things straight.
While
I was running about, my head was spinning. Having had a glimpse of how much
misery life could hold, I started counting my blessings. Then and there I decided
to get a grip on what I had, and I had it pretty good—at home no one pushed me
around or asked prying questions. Mom, seeing me run up and down the stairs,
didn't say a word, just kept on smiling to herself. I guess she'd expected
something like this would happen, and was glad to see her daughter come to her
senses.
"Taking
charge of your life!" a harsh squawking voice made me turn. A red parrot,
head bobbing, perched on the windowsill.
"That's
right. You'll see!" I said, irritated by the intrusion.
"Planning
ahead!" jabbered the parrot, as if making fun of me.
"I
don't intend to wind up in the backwaters or the pits of life, bruised to bare
bone!"
The
parrot chuckle, "Well... That's to be seen!"
"Oh,
leave me alone!..."
It
was late when I finished cleaning my room and climbed into bed. But I couldn't
sleep. Thoughts were jostling from what I just did to what I could have done
better, thoughts raked from one side of the brain to the other finding no rest.
Then out of nowhere the idea that no two events happen in the same place at the
same time, jabbed me as hard as the red parrot. The logic couldn't be simpler:
if I crammed my days with activities that would help me get ahead, the bad
things would have no room, no place in which to happen!
From
then on time was a commodity free for the taking, like air or light. All I had
to do was rely on my wits and use every minute to my advantage. As that shall
be my rule, I set off each morning with new determination.
I
soon learned that clock time was flexible. I could slow down time by moving
slower, and rush the passage of time by moving faster. It boiled down to
this—by changing the speed of my own activities, I could make time, lose time,
make up for lost time, and spend the left over time as I pleased. No wonder
people were selling their time and buying time so others would do their work.
In no time I was ready to invest (invest!) my time in projects that would
improve my chances of getting the most out of what a situation had to offer.
If I
studied harder, I'd have a good shot at going to a great college where I could
study whatever I wished. Hearing that colleges liked well-rounded candidates, I
went out for the basketball team, joined the debating team, and ran for class
president. Finally I had a plan—something to aim for, to build a future on. I
felt I could accomplish anything I set my mind to, and there was no one to stop
me. The grown-ups, seeing how eager I was to excel, encouraged me and gave
advice at every turn, and riding on waves of good will, I could see my own
future taking shape, all for the taking. How could I sit still?
At
the peak of this heady excitement, after studying several hours for a history
test, I fell asleep on my bed surrounded by books. I dreamt that I was in a
room where the light was so bright that I could hardly see anything. Squinting,
I made out pencil-thin outlines of boxes stacked high and wide, the place too
crammed to take a step in any direction. But when I tried to move a box out of
the way, there was nothing but air—the outlines had no substance, the boxes
were empty of content. I tried again, but every box I touched only cast a dark
shadow, sharp-edged shadows leaving solid impressions. Picking up shadows
instead of boxes, I stacked them on one side, and noticing that the jagged
edges interlocked like pieces of a huge puzzle, I started building intricate
shadow constructions, delighting in the work and improving as I went along.
Flushed
with excitement I worked faster and faster, marveling at the ingenious shapes I
created. Shapes seemed to generate themselves as structures leaning toward each
other interlocked, creating ever larger, more fabulous wholes. When I looked
back to see how far I had come, I was startled to see a Billy goat standing on
its hind legs behind me, notepad in hand; its elegant coat grey-blue, its horns
and hoofs polished black, the trimmed beard and eyelashes snow-white.
"Go
on, go on! Don't waste your time staring at me, you have much to ca-a-atch up
with," he said in an edgy, high-pitched voice, adjusting the heavy
blinders he wore to avoid distraction.
I
looked up to see what I had to catch up with, and saw on the horizon small and
large stone circles, their shadows tracking the voyaging sun. In their shadow
grew stone and mud-brick huts and walls and towers, and in their shadow rose
dwellings that clustered into towns and cities and pyramids of all sizes to
bring humanity closer to heaven and the mysteries of life. Out of their shadow
grew the unfinished Tower of Babel built for speaking to gods, and the gardens
of Babylon to contemplate the sea of longings, and the Lighthouse of Alexandria
to light the way. And out of their shadows, cast long and wide, grew temples
and cathedrals—every shadow generating ever more elaborate longings that raised
human aspirations ever higher. And though the longings themselves grew out of
shadows, out of their ruin and rubble emerged the spectacle of sprawling modern
cities, ever taller buildings crowding the sky, forever reaching for the high
mysteries stacked ever higher and ever further away.
I
turned to the Billy goat, scribbling in his notebook. "What are we looking
at?"
"Civilizations
built out of the sha-a-adows of previous civilizations with the invincible
ingenuity of humankind," he said, one eye twitching as if he had a tic.
"What
are you writing?"
"I'm
taking notes of what materials and how much of them were moved by people to
build their dreams. So fa-a-a-ar it comes to seven trillion tons of stone,
ninety-eight billion tons of rubble, two continents stripped of wood, three
cross continent ranges stripped of minerals, and four fifths of the earth's
deposits to fuel these ventures. Scientists are trying to figure out how long
the riches of this planet will last."
"And
then what?"
The
Billy goat scratched its side. "Everything will be reused, the
civilizations following ours will be forced to recycle every scrap of every
material used so fa-a-ar."
While
the Billy goat was talking, the heap of shadow buildings kept growing, the din
of hammering, chiseling, and cutting, of wheels squeaking, the grind of
machinery straining the air. Towering skyscrapers shot up piercing the clouds,
and in this grand extravaganza of glitter a shiny metal arch brought back to
earth a piece of sky. To the east and west of this heap were more towers and
more temples and more pyramids, roofs with turned-up corners crowning misty
mountaintops, domed stone edifices squatting in manicured jungles. The world
overrun by the handiwork of people who had busied themselves ever since it was
discovered that shadows interlock and fit together into new wholes without
apparent effort. All it took was the will to build, and nothing else mattered.
Topping the heap were shiny rockets aimed at penetrating the heavens,
spaceships calmly gliding above the protective outer layer like insects adrift
in thermals, probing ever farther into the ever deepening darkness of the
universe. Slow-stirring distant nebulae transporting vision into receding
questions, the patterns already unraveled baiting the mind, the spectacle
enacting the dance of life on the grandest of scales.
Disturbed
by the spectacle of an ever-increasing commotion, I looked at the Billy goat.
He was taking notes at a furious speed, half of his face convulsing with an
uncontrollable tic.
"I
guess we too are contributing to the to-be-recycled heap of civilization?"
"Of
course we a-a-are, every generation contributes its sha a-a-are of
interpretations," said the Billy goat. "Such is human nature, a-a-and
who would want to restrain it? We are all in it together."
"We
all?" I wondered.
"Yes,
you and I as well. I supply the stubbornness necessary to accomplish anything
worthwhile. I ma-a-a-ake people dream tall dreams and think big, which pushes
humanity into the future. What you are looking at has been mostly achieved by
the use of clocks—clocks synchronizing labor, clocks harnessing the human
potential for the good of all. I suggest that you stop questioning everything
you see, forget the eternal questions that ha-a-a ave no answers, and do what
is expected of every human being—share the responsibility for building a better
tomorrow. Everyone will profit by it."
"Questions
that have no answers—you mean, like 'what's the point of it all'?'"
He
frowned. "It's beyond me-e-e why anyone would waste time on thoughts that
flow like water down the drain. So much precious human potential is wa-a-asted
on musings that invent problems rather than solve them, and do more harm than
good, that to this day I wonder what blinds so many people so consistently. On
the other hand, everyone who devotes him or herself to what ma-a-a-atters to
society and contributes to the good of all, joins the ra-a-a-anks of those who
work for the future of humankind. Reliance on reason is the most productive way
to spend one's life. And those who do so a-a-are the people on whose back
civilization rests. Only those who grasp this are truly unselfish. The rest are
dreamers living off wha-a-a-at these brave self-denying people produce. Do not
fall into this trap." By now his face was distorted by convulsions.
I
asked, "Are you all right?" The Billy goat nodded impatiently and I
continued, "What about our personal dreams, hopes, expectations?"
"What
ma-a-a-akes you think that the things you see before you did not take imagination
or dream to guide the builders? Does it look to you as if these ingenious
people were short of hope or expectation? They ha-a-a-ave used their lives
productively, and ha-a-ave directed their aspirations toward a common goal;
they have given their lives to humanity. See what's been accomplished already
and you will understand what I mean."
"But
aren't they building on shadows, with shadows?" I insisted.
He
stomped his foot. "And what is a shadow if not an indication that
something is there to ca-a-ast a shadow? We distinguish things from one another
only because there is light and shadow, and what you call day and night, or
time, is also born of shadows cast by three planetary bodies in orbit. Somebody
should write a book on the importance of shadows."
"Time
a shadow...?" I ventured timidly.
"It's
confusing, I know. Look—" and to demonstrate, the Billy goat picked up the
shadow of a box as if it were cut out of paper, and lifting it up, slowly
pressed it to the side of the box. The shadow vanished on contact.
"Now
watch me do it fast." He lifted the shadow swiftly, and it vanished in a
blink.
"The
duration of the vanishing act you just witnessed, corresponds to the speed of
the movement. Whether short or long, any noticeable duration evokes the
experience of time. No space, no motion; no motion, no duration; no duration,
no perception of time. The word 'time' merely stands in for the experience of
the duration."
He
took a deep breath. "Space, motion, and duration are components of
everyday reality, grasped by the senses of people around the world." He
paused again. "Once people noticed that the durations of night and day, of
the moon cycles and cycles of seasons correspond with the movements of three
planetary bodies, they started marking the movements, and so drew up a
calendar. Only think about it—because people have observed these celestial
shadows century after century, time was trapped in calendars and clocks! And
once they had a calendar, the major cyclic events could be predicted and prepared
for; the calendar not only punctuating the flow of time but also regulating
every significant human activity and social event. By now calendars and clocks
regulate even your personal life. Imagine, the notion of time, derived from the
interactions of three rotating heavenly bodies, has set the rate at which time
itself is supposed to flow!"
"Is
there time...?" I ventured to interfere.
"There's
only the experience of time. Thus when we use the standard time measures to
account for longer periods of time, it's not the so called passage of time we
are accounting for, but only the number of revolutions the sun has completed in
that stretch of time. Furthermore, our time standards, this indispensable human
invention, ignore a myriad of other durations that go on uninterrupted since
the beginning of the world. Therein lies the true mystery of time—all
durations, from a nano-second to a light-year, still affect our inner states
day-in and day-out, here and now, wherever you happen to be. Hence the many
experiences of time, also the lure to favor one mindset over the other."
Taking
a deep breath, now pointing at the achievements spread before us, the Billy
goat underscored the importance of his words with a grand sweeping
gesture, "Just look where
human ingenuity and daring have ta-a-a-aken us already!"
Having
difficulty to follow what he said, I envisioned masses of people felling
forests, quarrying stone, building walls, towers, houses, bridges, castles and
cities and temples, repairing or tearing down old buildings and building new
ones in their place—moving tons of materials from one place to another and
back, rushing blindly into a programmed future as if there were no tomorrow.
"But
the people—they are like ants..."
The
Billy goat adjusted his blinders. "Everything has its price." An
attack of tics made him pause. "No exceptions here, but the rewards
a-a-are immense. First of all, never forget that these ant-like people supply
you with a-a-all your needs. Be it in technology, science, medicine, or anything
else on the market today, their persistence and perseverance have given
humanity the building blocks of knowledge. It's mind boggling how fa-a-a-ar
better off people are today than they were only a few generations ago. If that
is not proof of progress, well then..." Seeing me suppress a yawn, he
cleared his throat. "I've said enough."
"And
to whom are we proving what?"
He
threw up his forelegs. "Look at it this way... Whatever the undertaking,
progress is the feeling of going forward in a direction. Progress is witness to
our infallible ingenuity. Progress gives hope because it carries a promise for
a better future. Humanity needs hope, something to look forward to, to move on.
But enough... I have work to do." He said, disappointment in his voice.
"I
may not understand what you said, but please go on," Feeling that I had
let him down, I had to say something. Then added politely, "Having come
this far to find out what life is about, I want to see it all."
Looking
away, the Billy goat spoke reluctantly, "What I am trying to say is that
the ra-a-ational outlook, the ra-ational approach, and a ra-ational frame of
mind is the most constructive and the least wasteful of all possible outlooks.
People are not called Homo sapiens for nothing, so why not harness the mind to
its intended purpose? Securing a better tomorrow for humankind is the ultimate
challenge, and sooner or la-a-a-ater scientists will find the answers to what
plagues humanity today. The present is only a means of getting there."
"Its
intended purpose? Intended by whom? And the present is only a means? Don't we
do our living and seeing and thinking in the present? Or can living too be
switched on and off at will?" I stepped back, alarmed by what I said.
"What
kind of living do you have in mind, young lady?"
"That's
what I want to find out, that's why I'm here—to see what options I have."
In a
voice now harsh and raspy, he said, "Regardless of how you choose to spend
your life, there will always be difficulties to bear, things to complain about,
and things to wish for." Catching himself, he added, "But I've talked
too much already. By the way, if you plan to go on, you better finish what
you've started, or it will come back to haunt you."
With
these words, the Billy goat turned away. Notebook in hand, pencil at the ready,
he stepped into the world of shadows.
I
shouted after him, "And what about the present?"
"What
other present is there?" his voice came back.
"And
the future?"
"The
future is but one other event in the ma-a-a-aking!" His voice was fading.
"Well,
I want it all," I shouted back. And heard nothing.
Compelled
to continue the work where I'd left off—compelled by what? The Billy goat,
society, the time machine?—I was so steamed up that when I turned to finish the
work I had started, on the run I built ever larger and more daring shadow
constructions. Catching my breath I stopped and turned to see what I'd
accomplished. My work was impressive—shapes evolved one from another, and
growing in scope and complexity, they complemented each other extending the
possibilities in many directions; progress evident in every structure, the
process immensely gratifying. Only one structure struck me as somewhat
peculiar. It resembled an ancient observatory made entirely of steps going up
and down, steps diminishing in every direction as if seen in multiple mirror
reflections.
I
approached the structure slowly and, after walking around it several times,
touched it to see whether it was real. As if shocked, the shadow structure
swayed, then cracked, then started crumbling; crumbling so slowly, so silently,
in such an other-worldly way, that dumbstruck I stood there watching my fancy
handiwork self-destruct. And as if this elaborate likeness of a real thing were
the epicenter of an earthquake, shockwaves rippled the ground, and wave by wave
all the structures splintered and shattered collapsing into dust. Struck more
by the eerie silence than by the destruction, I realized that I had misused
that precious commodity called time—in the frenzy of invention, fascinated by
how my busy hands held the mind captive, I wasted my time on making things that
were utterly meaningless to me.
As I
watched the shockwaves recede, as I faced the emptiness I myself had created, I
saw no boundaries, no horizon, no limitations—only waves of aftershock rippling
my starved brain.
Faint
voices made me turn around. Not far from where I stood, perched on an
outcropping of boulders were the white sparrow, the red parrot, a raven, a barn
owl, and a white crane.
The
white sparrow was speaking. "I'll repeat, I have called this meeting not
to discuss whether the girl is ready to continue on this voyage, but whether we
should give her a break and stop her from going ahead."
"She
hasn't hit the wall yet, has she?" asked the crane, glancing at the raven.
"I'd
rather see her get the full measure of every facet of time, or the next one
will make no sense to a girl who plunges head on into every situation,"
said the black raven, its voice insistent.
"So
far we have seen little hesitation or fear," added the owl. To give her a
break at this point could do more harm than good.
"I'd
show no mercy to anyone who got that far already, for only those who pass the
test of endurance are apt to reach the end," said the crane not mincing
words.
"...Though
all keep dreaming of it," interjected the parrot.
"Then
it's settled," said the owl. "And let's not forget that like everyone
else, she has a second chance. As young as she is, she may not make it to the
end this time, but may come back later, stronger and more persistent, ready to
experience the full range of options without a hitch."
"Yes,"
agreed the white sparrow, "but the girl does not know that. And as
headstrong as she is, we don't want her to crash too hard."
"There
is no such thing as crashing 'too hard'. Those willing to grow welcome every
challenge and grow stronger for it," said the raven.
"True,"
responded the owl humming its favorite tune, "It's what you do with what
you've got, and never mind how much you got..." Showered with glances, she
quieted down.
"So
it's agreed then, we shall not spare Alya. She is to experience all the
pressures, stresses, dangers, and delights allotted to every curious and daring
person," concluded the white sparrow.
"Aye,
aye..." resounded the birds in unison and took off, each in a different
direction.
The
edge of something hard against my shoulder made me turn in bed. It was the
history book, the bedside light still on. Seeing that I'd fallen asleep fully
dressed, I got up, put the books
on the table, put on my pajamas and crawled back into bed. But I could not
sleep. What the birds had said sounded not only grim but also dangerous, surely
not encouraging. I gathered that I had stepped onto some ancient path still
familiar to birds but forgotten by people. On the other hand, what the birds
said about me gave me confidence that I was able to handle what lay ahead.
While
musing about the mysterious ways of life, I was struck by how in human affairs
every step had to be planned, every detail had to be carefully attended to and
scrupulously supervised, or an event set in motion might come to a standstill,
or take an unpredictable turn, or run amuck to a disastrous ending. This led to
another chilling thought, namely, that in man-make events every step had to be
accounted for, every intentional human act was but a link in a string of right
or wrong actions registered as a black or red entry in the balance sheets of
gains and losses. Someone was responsible for each good and bad outcome,
someone had contributed to the way things turn out in the end.
I had
taken control of my life alright, and there was no one to stop me. To the
contrary, all I heard these days at home and in school was praises for my
cheerful disposition and unwavering commitment. Proud of myself, I finally
dozed off.
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