„A trivial truth, but Time isn’t tangibel; neither can one hold on to it, nor feel it directly in any other way. You can‘t see the time, smell or taste them either. Which is why one can not say that it is beautiful, tall, or unsightly ugly. One is sometimes inclined to doubt their existence.
But … foolishness is as much a part of humanity as is the characteristic of repression.
However, time is a relentless believer, repression is meaningless; Executively, time finds millions of ways to prove itself. Just indirectly. Like an indication. It almost seems like we have a contract with it, the damned time. It gives self, as part of a supply contract, starting with all of our procreation, and it turns away from us, terribly often out of the blue, sometimes only when the flesh falls from our bones.
Time does not pass; it is we, … indeed … we, the people who pass away, wither, die out.
Perhaps the greatest significance at this time is that, as bipolar coexistence on the one hand, it is invisible, imperishable, or unbreakable, and on the other hand, as if it wishes to taunt us or play hide-and-seek, leaving its mark everywhere. And these, oh yes, we are then very well able to see, for example in our faces, wrinkles, tired bones or thickening bellies, to feel, to taste and even to evaluate at our discretion. But with time itself, that’s not possible.
And let’s not be fooled by the supposed „control certainty“ of being able to measure it; every watch is an earthly compromise, as beautiful as it may be sparkling, diamond studded, or sober digitally spitting out the seconds. It does not matter how we divide it, and we believe we can measure it. It deceives us anyway, because we think and feel, it passed. But it is just there, as a living space, as a colossal universal monster, as an eternal moment in which we rise and pass again. Although … it shouldn’t so, if we presume divine justice, Jing and Jang, the „great harmony“. Because a contract contains at least a second page. A contractor just. With duties, but also rights.
The time is so omnipresent, so around of us, as that the consciousness that lives in us and without which we would be just a moving cell pile, be as a tricky parity comes to light.
No life – no time.
With each and every one of us, time also dies. His time. It can only exist if it infests a host, monopolistically with the emergence of life, which recognizes it by its traces and thus colored with everything that human life has to offer. This is the real deal that God has cleverly arranged. He leaves it to us and our time, what we make of our deal, how we colorize, and ultimately feel valued.“
Im Mahlstrom 