There’s something to be said about parallels. Things that coexist side by side, perfectly separated as they move through space. They may not be equal at all times, rather there’s blips and bumps that create inequality through the progression, but it matters little. The importance is the understanding of the parallel tracks that are followed, with each locked within one another’s gravity. That’s where the golden material is.
Perhaps the separation is nothing but time code. To a mosquito a season is a lifetime, maybe two months if one is lucky without a swat, pesticide, or a green glowing light of death ending it all. Yet, as humans, homo sapiens to be exact, we view time differently, in days, months, years, and decades. A thousand years ago to be forty was a blessing, something that was far from expected. These days the idea of living a day below ninety is unthinkable, why, when we have the best medicine and treatments in the western world at our disposal. No, that’s not what’s vexing me at this late hour of the night. What’s sticking, is the idea of the speed of different clocks.
The universe is on its own clock, started at some finite point billions of years ago. The earth, this earth, within this solar system has its own age, roughly 4.5 billion years old. Now us, humans, have been around for say 100,000 years if that, in some form or another, pretty small. Now take it down to the individual level, the guy or gal living in the 21st century, expecting maybe to make it 90 t0 100 years if all goes well. Each has their own time code that they follow, a separate clock that ticks with varying spaces between the seconds.
Not to make things even more confusing, is culture, well the culture we’ve developed since as a species we decided to organize and live compactly. That also has it’s own clock, moving ever so slower than that of the individual. Confusing as all hell, but ultimately what it comes down to is all these wonderful bands of progressions running parallel to one another, racing at different speeds into some finite future, intersect and interact, yet at awkward maturation points. Sometimes one line is further progressed than others, and zero is heard or understood. Yet at some point they meet, and a coherence is found, more than likely far from the life of the person that created it.
All of this is just constructs though, in that we are all borne to that which we reside. We are of this earth, which is of this solar system, which is of this universe, which is of many. We try as we may to see the bigger picture, yet we fail to within our daily lives. Instead we follow the individual time codes that we’ve been given, bearing the difficulties that we see only within them.
Perhaps the mosquito sees nothing but the same, and we are all left adrift within whatever time may be given, living our season until its unexpected end. But parallel, we will progress, relentless, moving forward with everything else until some unforeseen end on some unknown clock we’ve never seen, but have always followed, is discovered, and unwound.