our hearts don't beat in time with time....
"in this world, there are two times. there is mechanical time, and there is body time. the first is as rigid and metallic as a massive pendulum of iron the swings back and forth, back and forth. the second squirms and wriggles like a bluefish in a bay. the first is unyeilding, predetermined. the second makes up it's mind as it goes along.
many are convinced that mechanical time does not exist. when they pass the giant clock on the kramgasse they do not see it; nor do they hear it's chimes while sending packages on postgasse or strolling between flowers in the rosengarten. they do not keep clocks in their houses. instead, they listen to their heartbeats. they feel the rhythms of their moods and desires. they know that time moves in fits and starts. such people eat when they are hungry, go to their jobs at the millinery or the chemist's whenever they wake from their sleep, make love all hours of the day. such people laugh at the thought of mechanical time....
then there are those who think their bodies don't exist. they live by mechanical time. they rise at seven o'clock in the morning. they eat their lunch at noon and their supper at six. they arrive at their appointments on time, precisely by the clock. they make love between eight and ten at night. they work forty hours a week, read the sunday paper on sunday, play chess on tuesday nights. when their stomach growls, they look at their watch to see if it is time to eat. when they begin to lose themselves in a concert, they look at the clock above the stage to see when it will be time to go home. they know that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. in short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or a shock. as such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. and if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. the body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed.
taking the night air along the river aare, one sees evidence for two worlds in one. a boatman gauges his position in the dark by counting seconds drifted in the waters current. "one, three meters. two, six meters. three, nine meters." his voice cuts through the black in clean and certain syllables. beneath a lamppost on the nydegg bridge, two brothers who have not seen each other for a year stand and drink and laugh. the bell of a st vincent's cathedral sings ten times. in seconds, lights in the appartments lining schifflaube wink out, in a perfect mechanized response, like the deductions of euclid's geometry. lying on the riverback, two lovers look up lazily, awakened from a timeless sleep by the distant church bells, suprised to find that night has come.
where the two times meet, desperation. where the two times go their seperate ways, contentment....
each time is true, but the truths are not the same."
-alan lightman, einstein's dreams
many are convinced that mechanical time does not exist. when they pass the giant clock on the kramgasse they do not see it; nor do they hear it's chimes while sending packages on postgasse or strolling between flowers in the rosengarten. they do not keep clocks in their houses. instead, they listen to their heartbeats. they feel the rhythms of their moods and desires. they know that time moves in fits and starts. such people eat when they are hungry, go to their jobs at the millinery or the chemist's whenever they wake from their sleep, make love all hours of the day. such people laugh at the thought of mechanical time....
then there are those who think their bodies don't exist. they live by mechanical time. they rise at seven o'clock in the morning. they eat their lunch at noon and their supper at six. they arrive at their appointments on time, precisely by the clock. they make love between eight and ten at night. they work forty hours a week, read the sunday paper on sunday, play chess on tuesday nights. when their stomach growls, they look at their watch to see if it is time to eat. when they begin to lose themselves in a concert, they look at the clock above the stage to see when it will be time to go home. they know that the body is not a thing of wild magic, but a collection of chemicals, tissues, and nerve impulses. thoughts are no more than electrical surges in the brain. sexual arousal is no more than a flow of chemicals to certain nerve endings. sadness no more than a bit of acid transfixed in the cerebellum. in short, the body is a machine, subject to the same laws of electricity and mechanics as an electron or a shock. as such, the body must be addressed in the language of physics. and if the body speaks, it is the speaking only of so many levers and forces. the body is a thing to be ordered, not obeyed.
taking the night air along the river aare, one sees evidence for two worlds in one. a boatman gauges his position in the dark by counting seconds drifted in the waters current. "one, three meters. two, six meters. three, nine meters." his voice cuts through the black in clean and certain syllables. beneath a lamppost on the nydegg bridge, two brothers who have not seen each other for a year stand and drink and laugh. the bell of a st vincent's cathedral sings ten times. in seconds, lights in the appartments lining schifflaube wink out, in a perfect mechanized response, like the deductions of euclid's geometry. lying on the riverback, two lovers look up lazily, awakened from a timeless sleep by the distant church bells, suprised to find that night has come.
where the two times meet, desperation. where the two times go their seperate ways, contentment....
each time is true, but the truths are not the same."
-alan lightman, einstein's dreams