Moving is making it practically impossible, not theoretically impossible, to live fully in the present moment. In chronological terms, time is either passing through us or we are passing through it; in terms of kairos, we are when we are before, during, and after the erosion.
When it comes to the concept of Time, I’m more of a Kyros kinda’ guy than a Chronos guy. I’ve so illustroblogged elsewhere and indicated that my ideal wristwatch would perform rather counterintuitively and, ultimately, autobiographically. I have time issues, and some of them have been explored in this venue.
Last week we saw The Theory of Everything, and I learned a few things about time; then, last night we saw Interstellar, and I learned a few more things about time … and bookshelves. Now that was my kind of kairotic bookshelf!
Something interesting happened last weekend while visiting friends. I saw a carving I had made nearly a quarter of a century ago, called Maryam’s monk, that prompted me to look at time – not only in terms of chronology but also as Kairos, which roughly corresponds to the difference between a minute and a moment.
Entranced as I was, I felt like never before the significance of a quote from Cervantes that I included in a recent post. Cada uno es hijo de sus obras. Roughly translated, Each of us is the son (or daughter) of his (or her) works. (Read how this was uttered by Sancho Panza in Don Quijote, Part 1, Chapter 47). Looking at the carving, which I’m now calling Maryam’s Monk (see photo below), I suddenly recalled in that moment how it was made and who I’d become since.
To be continued.