A Life in Time (4 of 90)
The concept of spacetime combines space and time to a single abstract "space", for which a unified coordinate system is chosen. Typically three spatial dimensions (length, width, height), and one temporal dimension (time) are required.
— Wikipedia entry on Spacetime
I’m not feeling particularly deep tonight, which is okay. I suspect that I am full of less depth than I think anyhow. It’s a welcome reprieve to simply accept such truths about oneself and move along.
There is, after all, nothing to see here.
I get myself in trouble, though, when I begin to acknowledge the potential for a future. Any kind of future. But, in particular, the kind of future that imagine myself managing to wrangle out at some point. These are the times when everything falls to pieces.
The problem isn’t that things fall apart. It’s that I now expect them to fall. To break. To crumble away into nothingness. Every beginning comes with its own unplanned but inevitable end.
And I hate endings. Particularly crumbly ones.
When I get in modes like this, I find myself fixating on the road ahead.
I’ve not yet figured out whether this is a good thing or simply a way for me to avoid the dead zones that crop up in my life. Everyone’s life I suspect. Although I’m not so worried about everyone’s lives as all those everybodies seem to be doing a much better job at motoring along than me.
That’s the case with much in life. We expect that others are navigating the choppy waters better than we are. We look to them for support, for motivation, for guidance.
Which is all well and good until everyone is looking at you and you realize: you’re hanging on like the rest of them. Only they think you’re navigating the waters.
You can’t really stare back, shrug your shoulders and let them know. So you stare ahead down the road. Assuming that – based upon experience – eventually the choppy waters will recede.
Little bits and pieces of my body are falling apart these days.
There isn’t a day that goes by that something doesn’t hurt. Or ache. Or feel strange. Or just generally make itself known. It has become normal now, so much so that on days when I don’t notice my body I notice my body.
The absence of the “thing” now is the “thing” as well. It’s a vicious circle. I suspect many of you know what I’m talking about. I suspect about an equal number have no idea what this means beyond an intellectual understanding.
This sounds like a bad feeling I describe to you. I can assure you that my body has neither a positive nor negative outlook on this. It simply is.
The strange by-product of these feelings, though, is that I tend to exist within multiple points in spacetime. My past, my present and my future become focused through one lens. I see in multiple dimensions now. Not in some Buckaroo Bonzai way, although maybe that’s where he first got the notion.
I simply see bigger things as smaller, and smaller things as bigger.
At the center of a black hole as described by general relativity lies a gravitational singularity, a region where the spacetime curvature becomes infinite. For a non-rotating black hole this region takes the shape of a single point and for a rotating black hole it is smeared out to form a ring shape lying in the plane of rotation.
In both cases the singular region has zero volume.
— Wikipedia entry on Black Hole: Singularity
Stephen Hawking predicted that black holes eventually dissipate, replacing a nothingness with a different kind of nothingness.
This thought comforts me. An emptiness replaced by a different emptiness. Because there is still movement in the nothingness. Even that can’t remain still.
We are bodies in motion, traveling through spacetime.