Let us imagine that the sequoia, on this misty autumn afternoon was
recalling its memories. It could a little titillate its cells by
remembering those uncounted days, sunny or overcast, those
storm-stricken or magical nights, those sharp or restful dawns. Its
six thousand years of memory would be to the tree what his sixty
years are to an aged man, for in memory and dream we have two means
which smooth away the unlike things in time, and give to it, for one
looking backward, an equality which active nature hardly possesses.
A dream-second or a second in memory may be a century as easily as a
year: just as actions which have taken thousands of years to complete
may finally have the same contour as little events of an hour. Our
eyes can enclose in their fixed impartial frame a huge landscape or a
tiny plot of space. What is passed has no existence except in
memory: while as for time--we carry it within ourselves, and pay it
out slowly or fast (or unconsciously) according to whether we are
busy or interested or indifferent. Hours are elastic periods, which
expand or contract according to the attention we pay them, and it is
our ideas and our passions which mark them off round the face of our
days.
Time may be imaged as a mirror, a confused mirror across whose
impassive face tens of thousands of scenes chase each other in a mazy
dance: for in it are reflected the innumerable and never-closing
consequences of all action, with all the lights, all the shadows, all
the extent and motions of the universe. The mirror itself is
changeless, and the semblance of movement lies in the reflection, in
that endless rout of fleeting images whose transience is to their
glass as our little moment to eternity. Our utmost capacity is to
project a thought-ray from our place and instant of existence back
into the night which hides our coming, or forward to the night which
waits our going--rays whose imagined courses towards the poles of the
infinite we cannot follow even in thought. Yet they are our only
links with past and future, those two names which together spell
eternity: the future a past not yet achieved, and the past a future
left behind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account