Time is justified, even in its illusion. As I favor to explain, time exists only because the reference of human experience feels the onslaught of forwardness as the spinning of the sky continues regardless of desire. We use time, we abuse time, and we blame time for the unfortunateness of life.
I wish to use time... I wish it to heal me, to mend me, to hurry up and push me forward so I'll be ok again. It's perhaps a little pathetic to think that time, a fallacy of a being, would come to my rescue. Time's indifference wins out over all expectations, so it cares not that I desire its help to mend what is broken. It helps, nevertheless, with each rising sun, setting moon, and revealing star.
As today, the second day after heart wrenching truths were unveiled in painless words... the shock and agony of the revealing is much less than yesterday. The constricting forces on my chest still exist. The doubts, and hinderances, in my brain persist; but the drumming isn't nearly as intense. This must mean that both sides of the battle are being won. Time is moving without adherence to desire, and I am helped by the very presence of the walking hands.
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