Caedmon Comma

My Son,

Time is a celestial illusion. We see the sun rising and setting. We see the moon waxing and waning. The trees turn in loyalty to the Autumnal preface and flowers bloom, obedient to spring.

It is tempting to think that the Sun sets at the conclusion of our day and that the Summer commences to close our Spring. But we are irrelevant. Our watches and our clocks were created to measure the illusory.

Beyond the illusion, lies the harsh beauty of a Cosmos that founded us.  Giant orbs fly around eachother through the enternity of space. They are all on spacial circuits that take eons to complete. A millenium is a microscopic entity, unrecognized by the ancients of the sky. Yet, their forces and their gravities turn them into the spinning inevitabilities which we use to define our lives and seperate our moments.

The Earth spins one day to the next, and it hurtles through the seasons of the year. Our entire reality is the result of a rock that wobbles and spins and is irresitably pulled toward the sun... Toward the future.

Time is an illusion that is so meaningless that it is the truest definition of the life we find ourselves within.

Time is an illusion and the life you now live is the exploration of this illusion.


Dada