Poles of pure time..
The problem: To think time is of course to open into paradox. Time is not, so I is not clear what one is thinking. O perhaps to be more accurate time is merely caught u with whatever one is remembering or thing of. It is not really inner or outer, do much as the pitch in which I am a finite things within the world of infinites. It is therefore the way or the manner my finite is straddles in and through others. It is what it is to be held within another.
Or at least that is what is the day o day time of been is. I look around a room of finites .Each finite will remake or rethrow a nature- my nature. They each will therefore enforce onto us difference. In watching or looking at them I make their picture or at least some picture in my mind I embody the, a and do so according to that futures these objects make.
All these futures then elude together to give be a present. That is each will embody across the other and through the perceptions of the other.
At the base of this embodying there are two different principles: Firstly there is the idea that all these forms in really lent t the objects by and through my own imagination. I am the one therefore which owns in a sense the imaginations the inspire – or better mine is the brain they come from.
At the same time what is actual and real abut these elements, that cannot imagine is their very sliding reality. Cannot therefore understand them as anything but real. They have a reality, a real reality that is absolute and un-negotiated for me. I am their apostle and can do no more than that or be no more that that.
By mind therefore is at once the house of the imagination that is the place though which things tumble into something. The sight for this tumble into a thing. But all it is the point or place into which that tumble pulls out into a reality why we cannot cononvive0 that actual glamour of reality. I am thereof locked it a future where I must be the one giving you, and in that giving, in that posing of your finite nature a nick a something from you, or take a something, a more than, which cannot otherwise be grasped or gained.
However this duality of where the mind reaches into ordinary time, then sprouts a little differently, when new coagulations of the nature of how these ordinaries blind or jingle together into a present
On the one hand in a life I am caught up in the mists of otherness quite beyond a me. To have a life is therefore to be a finite point within the world – a limited time, but one within other times and through other places. These other times will thereafter overhang the perception, as monuments as the bones of the land. I am now, I am in the now and yet in that being here an how, am foci into a grasp of those other times, those other ruins. The mind is therefore taken over or made to sing by the work of giants. The towers moulder, and my fantasy plays.
To exist now is therefore to be forced into an impossible dialogue with what was, One reaches of a shell and finds it a fossil. One great a wall, mighty and finds it loose dust. Time marks in the monument the point at which reality warps into something not quite real, and not quite their. It is therefore the place into which I tumble as a world beyond mine. It therefore takes assume notes0 vivacity in the wrong direction. In order to conceive a time one needs un the opposite way with reality, That is normally reality is the extra element into which the mind is taken. It is the unconfined links o loops which create arranged presents and give uncertainty. But here the situation is a little different. It is not an loop into being, so much as a point beyond base in which a blending has already occurred, which demands that a time be made for it, and a time which is mixed up (as vivacity is always mixed and yet mixed in a way that is never perceived.
It is therefore as if the perceptions were already bled into our minds and through them. We grasp therefore the mere legacy of another mixing, and must somehow create that mixed up element though our minds. We need its reality to be their and to be real.
And so Hume is really really right. The problem of the past is that it reverses the normal order of thins and creates a deep anomaly. The mind perceived itself already blended b a vivacity other than its own, and needs a notion of time to account for that mixing. Or better it needs an appeal to a dual set of mutuality’s to give this reality.
It needs therefore to assume the world is real and mine. It is therefore the same world shells which these fossils were in’ or again these are walls. The world is therefore the same old world. and yet this mutalities is then aught up in another, it. It requires the agency of that time in which things are muddles up now in a sense, that I that forms the axis which measures vivacity within, in order though contain the muddle up of the past. Or to put it differently. The axis of time in the ordinary way s merely the locus or measure of vivacities. A and mixed us up, and time is the measure of that mix up – it is the way we give it direction, a nod invent the space a present or a day to express packets of mixes. Thus far it is not in itself substantive. This is merely Pato0. Ordinary time is then effectively toothless.
However it is this time which evocation of the monsters of vivacity form the past, the mix that cannot be accounted for in anomy one time, gives fangs to The mind needs to concave this mix as resulting from that agency, form that time, from that sense in which mind is not where it was, and not through what it was. The mind therefore is gripped in time the mixer- time the thrower of elements one across the other – time the powerhouse in which the vivacities are bought to together.
The past litters our mind therefore an remains us of this breaking time. I better it forces us t make the ordinary passage of they and the measure of that passage (its binding into on axis) into something of utter importance to what we are.
The past is the tearing of the mutual. It beckons an exchange than then pulls that exchange out from under ones feet. At that it leaves then are the passions. It is only in passion (once against hi is Hume) which has the power to make up a relate of its own. O perhaps better, it is only passion that invents reality with a power of its own. in passion theorem I inhabit a power which allows one to muddle up perceptions and feel a time. My mind is therefore adequate in nostalgia and across feeling to invent the muddle of times. And yet of course it does with in sphere other that perception, a sphere that is only felt and never actual. A sphere of the virtual. One feels the history one is caught within not in itself therefore so mochas the feelings it produces. The game in then as it allays it to capture this feeling not merely as a caught passion (my feeling my passion, my past) but rather as itself an affect caught up in the landscape of a world and the powers of than worlds sliding realities. This move though is always tricky.
I is therefore all too easy to own even the crazy reality of the passion of the past. It feels like ours, and the mystical map or our Britain, our Albion is created. A map which has us a the mere acolyte in another truth, and owning of reality.
O to put it another way, this work of the giants in my mind all too easily slips into Celtic nostalgia and a mythic pasts I feel I can own and times are lost in the process.
The alternative take on time is routed in personal memory. The personal relationship I have with my past and the other mess in and of that past, open up complex issues. On the one level this past is certainly absolutely my own it held within my imagination alone, and is my reality, with all its passions and its powers. And that my relationship with that other me, me as another is seldom happy one. To look back into what I was, without what I became, and see the middle I was making of everything without the value of hindsight!
Moreover we will immediately be beckoned into exchanges with this bungler. They have element of threads we might now lacks, and hopes and fears we fell two answer, and yet which it can never hear the answer to .We therefore want to aid it, and yet it is inflexible a. We want to claim we are going somewhere an our life has purpose, and yet it might have elements we lack, and certainly always as the one element by definition lack – time. It s therefore the bungle o what I cold have done differently, what cold have been thrown otherwise of what pasts stand before me and what other might have been. I reach into it as a monster that time so what if- that point that in exchanging what I am then with what I am now, I realize my world for good or ill is all chance. It might, it really might, have been so very different you see.
The othering mess the mess in the past is therefore imagined in the mind, less as single memories and more as I did throw or pointer I could with what I know throw otherwise. There passions become a create power where my world in actual reality might have been different. I m caught in the prom of the past therefore, in their possible options it would open for me.
Imagination becomes in a sense at this point and othering vivacity. Like vivacity is how bleeds into other times and places, element perhaps unlinked at the time or occurring in many times (this house across the ages(are bled into the same idea. We therefore lurch across thought and are here ad there or wherever. The memory looses the imagination of them one time and becomes caught in the underpinning reality of many. Each of these times continue as little passion, and a little power, all together chime tot make a life. A life which might given the flow of times vivacity ands it lies vivid in us, been so different.
Time therefore in this pouring form becomes once against the agency of vivacity or better the point another vivacity lies before us all. The point the mind is no longer quite my own. The pointer I therefore slides across many registers of me, and many lives within which a me might be. In this slide, through this across I am .
Time, an passion become than textures other vivacity, which world have me spin across other lives, as I habitually in he ordinary world, spin across othering perceptions in the sine of reality.
A concept of time has therefore a dual nature. We become bled into the bones of the land and it master or slave or again we become a most ring ourselves, striding across any world and may possible virtualizing realities. The problem is of course that these emotion are almost impossible to keep apart. The very conception of times means that they with their virtual vivacity bled into one another. Fate is the force which operates across the mind forcing us this way and throwing us. Or again the monster we are is really a name for the powers of the land and the powers of the past, We are the God monsters of the landscape. This bleeding of different pasts or times with are other than each other and yet then conjoined, is essentially problematic. I, as it allows every mind to extend that bastard many you across the landscap, and as enmeshed within the past. This might be nice, it is nice to think that we might come again, that we might reincarnate as other times and in other places (that the two takes into time are one and the same),a n yet this fleeing of being apart of something very quickly as the mutuality’s is not responded to in the world confused with two other fantasies.
In the one we and our own concerns, our own passions become confused with the world itself. We become the important polluting or feeling agency. It is our mission and the world through us to save something… He assume therefore rather too much power in our world as our own native element We assume than this world is the world for us and of us and through us. We assume therefore we are caught in the mystics of it all, and peculiarly resistible. It breeds big heads and strange blind passionate 9and ultimately rather self-is or solid) acts made not in our name but the world.
O to put it another way to mistake oneself for a world is to always rash utter selfishness.
On the other hand to bleed a mind of the past and a mind of our own past other is to loose oneself in either romance- the bones of my life and the world life lie together or else its alternative, an excess rationalism. We us either therefore le=steno the echoed of false time or else set oneself p as their enemy and into their facer, and insist they are all bunkum. This insistence is all the more real and matter all the more as the pasts in question, are loud in their whispering ways and their echoes of what hey are. There ability to be within us is real. To rage ones against them, is often enough therefore to have to fight and really fight an entire constellation of our nature. That is that past our nature which allows us to be open to others and othering (which they both describe in their way). All othering gets aught up in the process, and is qualified or in extreme cases limited and rejected. T simply therefore reject all romance is as daffy as accepting it. The mind is then caught up in an sea which is almost bottomless. It wrong to go too deep, and start become to ivne,9whci his surprisingly easy) it is a mistake to be too shallow and only rationale. Bu where offends oneself in this sea is always a matte roof personal choice.
But wherever one chooses to float in these synthetic pasts one makes one always needs to remain open to the act that this sea is not quite as it claims it would be to claim to be all their was. It would claim to be what was real. If one has only it, then it would say on has enough for a life. This last point is no doubt true, and yet, one needs always to allow other voices other vivid takes of time then these false ones and othering point of escaping ones own nature than there two rather large-scale and stodgy ones.
Than is men needs always to be open to other philosophies then the all too easy ones of romantic time and is blind opposite rationalist. One needs always other way to oppose the self…
Which si why one keeps the philosopher n the first place.
Or to put it anther way – the fact the world past is in front of us, and our own past is behind of us is not enough to breed a real time which contains both. That fantasy cannot however be escaped, it lied before us all, and we are open to it the moment we are forced beyond vivacity and ordinary times. The game is to allow that fantasy a degree of actuality n the mind – not to attack it, but then to case control of what t gives one, and use it for ones own purposing.