There is no “self” we are told by some. Who we are changes from moment to moment, as we discard, not merely the cells of our body but the perceptions of our mind. As we travel we are changed, we become other than who we were. And so, we are told, there is no constant self and no soul, no divine core, to preserve.
It is true that we travel through time. But it is also true that time travels through, and into, us. Some of it remains there and looks out through our eyes with the freshness of “now” throughout our lives. Other parts travel to distant galaxies within seconds of their passing and we can only look out towards those moments as to alien beings, perplexed that we were ever connected, however briefly.
We are not merely adrift on a river, even though we may never return to our point of departure. And for all their change, our bodies hold the memory of who they have been and an indelible story is written upon us. We travel, not merely forwards, but into, and the depth of us may prove to have no end. We are present and remote, connected and and distant, and time is not the current but the medium through which we journey.
It is true that we travel through time. But it is also true that time travels through, and into, us. Some of it remains there and looks out through our eyes with the freshness of “now” throughout our lives. Other parts travel to distant galaxies within seconds of their passing and we can only look out towards those moments as to alien beings, perplexed that we were ever connected, however briefly.
We are not merely adrift on a river, even though we may never return to our point of departure. And for all their change, our bodies hold the memory of who they have been and an indelible story is written upon us. We travel, not merely forwards, but into, and the depth of us may prove to have no end. We are present and remote, connected and and distant, and time is not the current but the medium through which we journey.