Today, I found myself circling a specific thought—one that feels like a riddle the universe whispered in passing: “Time the time beforetime times you.”
It’s easy to think of time as a straight line, a sequence of ticking clocks moving us from a fixed past toward an unknown future. But there is a version of "time" that exists before the clocks were even built. A "beforetime" that isn't a date on a calendar, but a state of being.
When we "time" the time, we try to measure the unmeasurable. We try to catch the wind in a net. But then comes the multiplication—the way that original essence "times" us back. It expands us. It repeats us. It reminds us that we aren't just moving through time; we are the result of it, folded over and over again.
Maybe the secret isn't to watch the clock, but to let that "beforetime" rhythm set the pace.
The reactions, how often do I try to control the clock instead of feeling the flow? What does it mean to be "timed" by the universe?