Time and Space

I do not possess, an All-seeing Eye,
With which to see all, far and nigh,
From all places at once, however I try.
I can see only, from my here and now,
What my direction of view, will me allow,
Throughout the intrepid, journey I trace,
Along my path, through time and space.
But is the sight, this to me will reveal,
A true objective view, of what is real?
Though it must be, very much the same,
As the views of others, within my frame,
It differs at least slightly, from all theirs,
Uniqueness is a quality, that it bears,
So a mantle of subjectiveness, it wears.
To understand, the view I'm gleaning,
My mind must parse it, into meaning,
In the language, with which I've grown,
Inherited from, my terrestrial home.
But this lacks concepts, that I need,
So that I'm trapped, I must well heed,
From the Sapir-Whorf, I'm never freed.
If instruments I use, to extend my senses,
To delve deep into, the nanoscopic world,
They can't but give, without pretences,
A well distorted view, of what's unfurled.
To see details of a world, so diminutive,
I must bomb it, with particles primitive,
But what I then see, will be indefinitive.
I am bound to a language, lacking scope,
So of an objective view, I have no hope.
With data from my instruments, distorted,
From my point in time, I can't be ported,
But an objective view, is not what I need.
Subjective reality, is what I must heed,
It's the only reality, that matters indeed.
So please let me be, unbound and free,
To observe and study, everything I see,
How all in the universe, appears to me.
Allow me to question, what they are,
In terms of the things, I know so far.
Then let the picture, in my mind form,
To establish, my own pragmatic norm.
What is this 'entity', I perceive of as 'me'?
A kernel of thought, at its centre, I see,
Of an infinite sphere, of interminable space,
Planets, stars, galaxies; each in its place.
Earth, sky & oceans; a sparkling blue gem,
Mother Gaia: with her flora, fauna and men,
A vast murmuration; of me, mine and them.
The 'me' that I am, discerns all these in kind.
But how does news of them, enter my mind?
It converges towards me, from every direction,
Caught by my senses, ready for inspection,
I sense it by feel, taste, smell, sound and light,
From close at hand, or after a marathon flight,
Continuously and relentlessly, into my sight.
I've no means or power, to pull-in what I see,
I therefore conclude, it's being brought to me.
But who or what, is the bringer or conveyor,
Of all this information, of which I'm surveyor?
It must be an essence, that's ever converging,
A constant flow, never ebbing or surging,
Into my consciousness, never emerging.
News brought by feel, taste, smell and sound,
Is via contact and air, that's close all around.
But light from the vacuous reaches of space,
Comes through nothing, at unimaginable pace.
So does it have to be a vibration, like sound?
Or a particle, to a wave of probability bound?
How counter-intuitive, this I have found!
A simpler alternative, is not hard to find,
I just think of what's arriving, in my mind,
As inertial etchings, on the fabric of time.
Converging radially, at the speed of light,
Into my soul, where my thoughts take flight,
Then disappearing, into a mysterious sink,
At my seat of consciousness, where I think.
So the essence of time, convergently flows,
Its density accelerating, hard as it goes,
Just like the traditional, force of gravity,
Disappearing into some, invisible cavity.
But somehow my mind, is able to capture,
Its etchings of light, before they fracture,
And are lost, within a spatial contracture.
Where is the sink-hole, into which all is lost?
At the atomic centre, a threshold is crossed,
As the super-dense time-flux, enters therein,
It creates a backwash, that's somewhat akin,
To particles and waves, which outwards face,
Split and shaped by the geometry of space,
As an atom with arms, others may embrace.
Thus time-flux is a notion, that unifies all.
From universe to atom, it's all in free-fall.
And deep at the centre, of my mental sight,
I consciously watch, those etchings of light,
While they fall to oblivion, after their flight,
Into sink-holes in atoms, in a fuzzy domain.
As in my ocular retinas, their forms I retain.
Within the light I receive, I see the extreme,
But the things I see, are not what they seem,
The further from me, the etchings were made,
The older the image, that to me is conveyed,
And younger, the object by which it was laid.
My seat of consciousness, therefore must be,
For me, the oldest place in eternity.
This essence of time, of which I have spoken,
Can't into hours, minutes, seconds be broken.
But a mind that seeks, to be boldly inquisitive,
Can see that its flux, is their first derivative.
But time's rate of flow, has no tangible worth,
I need to break free from, the limits of Earth,
Which, to my mind, all its notions gave birth.
The notion of time, as the hours that I spend,
Comes from my memory, that makes me tend,
To think the universe, has a way of knowing,
its past, and the future, of where it's going,
But it's merely, in an eternal present, flowing.
And it's upon this, that I must get a handle,
If this concept of time, I will ever disentangle.
Thus everything is one differential removed,
From the Earthly concepts, to which I am used.
So time is related, to the way that time flows,
As space relates, to the speed that one goes.
But words won't work, until my mind knows,
The relation between time & space must be,
A dimensionless ratio, with the value of 'c'.
I directly sense speed, as experience of motion.
And of the passing of time, I also have notion.
It's these two I must cherish, if I'm ever to see,
That it's time-flow, that's at the root of reality.
Pure time and space, as things of persistence,
By human memory only, have their existence,
To quantify and relate, a period with distance.
So the only thing there, is time flowing in space,
Converging from the vastness, to finish its race,
In sink-holes, each with its back-standing waves,
As an atom with its valency, each one behaves,
On passing flux, etching its signatures of light,
Conveying them convergently, into my sight,
Parsed by my mind, that of them I may write.
An objective model of the universe? Never!
That's bound to remain, all hidden forever,
But my theory unifies: it does not sever.
It's the simplest view, that will not waiver,
Against the rigours, of Ockham's Razor.
The most unorthodox view, you ever did see,
But all I can say is: it works for me!

My Poems

Time and Space