Persistence of memory

There might be comfort in
your daft delusion
of the time
as simple seconds,
or even years
walking by
in its linear progression
from the cradle
into grave,
simple peddling
of the pendulum,
when measured time
is merely a delusion,
another lie to mask the fact
that every second lost
is far more precious than
every previous hour found.
The only hope, my friend
is learning how to count
each heartbeat
as if it was your last.

The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali

Time is really strange, and an invention of humans. To me, the concept of time has no value unless it’s measured against something else, and when change is rapid time is also changing. Maybe the way we measure time is actually blocking us from the diasters we would see if we didn’t think that time is absolute. Linked to earthweal

February 24, 2020

12 responses to “Persistence of memory

  1. Learning how to count and savour the heartbeats – and the present moment and day – is fine advice. At my age, it really boils down to each day being a gift, as one feels how finite time is toward its end. A wonderful poem, Bjorn.

  2. Perfect pairing of illustration and poem! This made me visualize the seconds as a tune on the organ in a church. Talk about masks!
    “simple peddling
    of the pendulum,
    when measured time
    is merely a delusion,”

  3. Humans are weaning off their wrist-watches–do you still wear one–and growing out of linear time. 24-7 digital is now all the time, and spans are narrowing to instantaneous moments. Makes it hard to reckon those old-school seasons and decades, for sure … But what you’re getting to here isn’t so much new time as the same old old time, reckoning by heartbeat and staying in the moment. Many a life was squandered staying stuck in the past or the greener grass of tomorrow. Thanks for bringing this to earthweal. — Brendan

  4. Yes, it’s painful to look back at all the insanity that has brought us to where we see everything in dollar signs, especially time, (which of course, is money to some) and nothing for whatever is really precious within it; it’s all just a “peddling/of the pendulum,/when measured time/is merely a delusion..” as we fall off the edge. A sad, but totally accurate prophecy in this, Bjorn.

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