STRANGE FICTION
I’ve been spending a lot of time reading recently.
One of the twists in the story I just finished is that one of the characters, the bad guy as it turned out, realized the world was ending and that humanity had to leave the planet. But as a species we did not have the technology to travel through space so they built a series of bunkers for people to live in for seven generations… as they travelled in time.
Time is a funny thing. One moment and then the next, like a story. Moments leading to changes - our bodies, our environments, all filtered through the shifting nature of now into then.
It’s all very daunting, the ultimate finite resource - but only in a sense, only when seen through our warped and subjective perspective.
One moment and then the next - not all moments always.
I remember this one perfect evening, camped out on a small lake in northern B.C. The wind would come in gusts, barrelling through the trees, sounding like gods racing each other through the forests. As the sun set all became calm, the water a perfect mirror in which we were the only ripple.
That moment lives forever.
All that has happened exists, all that will happen exists. We get to own both, forever and always. We forget this, can’t see it trapped as we are on the rails of now, bound to an arrow travelling in just one direction.
Enter the palace of our mind, enter the “I” watched by the eye of “me.” Here, thought and emotion mix with solid metaphors and are given place, memories walked through and future divined.
We are, if not infinite then infinitely more than now - strange comfort and stranger fiction.
