Today I visited eternity and all I thought about was time. My father’s birthday is today. It is hard to believe that three years has elapsed since his passing. The cemetery was quiet and the dead had little company this morning. A cool wind blew and the sun was shining. The silence was formidable, as was the yellow turf awaiting its blades of grass to turn green.
I thought about time as I looked at my father’s crypt. We measure time in so many different ways, yet the calendar remains the standard. Month, day and year record every moment in history we care to remember. His photograph upon the tombstone so too marked a moment in time. I had to recall my dad as a young father, then grandfather and then ultimately as a corpse resting inside his coffin. My father and I, mortal beings separated by life and death, and by a tombstone.
A child’s or grandchild’s birthdate, a wedding date, the day we start school or a job, the day we get our driver’s license, the day we buy our first home, the day we find ourselves holding our first puppy, or the day a loved one leaves us, are all moments in time.
Other moments in time mark the onset of a war, the day of an assassination or the day Christ died on the cross.
Books, tablets, music, art and memories record the distance we have from the actual event. Time ultimately is a measure of the truth. For it measures how well we humans manage to store the facts. Time seeds the truth as much as we allow it to seed lies.
Modern science now tells us we can bend time, teleport through time, travel to and from the past and future and even replicate events at different points at the same time. So is it possible that our birth is a recurring event in many dimensions as would be our death?
Thinking of time is not for the faint of heart. For time has no beginning and no end. Neither does the truth.