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The Life And Times Of Life And Time
Something about a book, written by a woman, or maybe it was a man. Some say it was a collaborative effort. Others say it was never written at all, that it was passed down orally through tales and stories, narrated by an infinitude of mouths beside campfires, on street corners, and in beds where two lovers share a single pillow. A few say even that never happened — and I happen to agree.
For as long as there has been humans, there has been Life and Time. In fact, quite a lot longer have Life and Time existed — longer than humans, I mean — but they did only that, existed, until we came along. It took the remarkable human mind to give essence to Life and Time, to make them truly take metaphorical shape. Of course, Life and Time observed their own evolution from a different perspective. From up higher, looking down, looking in, curious.
In the beginning, there was only wonder — wonder about what came before. They — Life and Time, I mean — shard the vastness of eternity, of emptiness… of everything, which, of course, was nothing at all. Life was aware of her own presence, and that of Time, for she could feel him. And that awareness was all there was. I can’t say for how long the stillness existed — it wouldn’t be until after Time started wondering that he created the inviolable sequence of cause and effect from which our concept of chronology arises— but it was…
