15 | The Art of Time: Insights from the Physics and Philosophy of Time in the Eyes of an Artist

Welcome to the Cow Behind the Barn: A podcast exploring humanity, the world, and the divine, as experienced and interpreted by an artist. I’m Kevin Caldwell, a Co-Finder of the Table Collective.

After the Episodes dealing with the nature of the cosmos, in response to “where did I begin” I have put out 3 Episodes about time, in response to answering “when did I begin”: the pragmatics of time, the physics of time, and the philosophy of time. Therefore the title for this Episode: “The Art of Time.”

I say that because although in the last few Episodes I have been talking about the things that the practical and scientific and philosophical approaches to time have surfaced for me, I have also been revisiting my own art, my music and poetry. And I am aware that throughout my art runs a way of seeing and experiencing time.

So in this Episode I am going to experiment by sharing my view of time by re-presenting and interpreting the six songs and poems I have woven into the last three Episodes.  

Material from those Episodes will likely show up here and there too, as I do so; material from the Pragmatics of time, the Physics of Time, and the Philosophy of Time, and from the religious sources as well. 

But this Episode will primarily be my way of seeing time as I express that in the form of poems and music and lyrics, stitched together with sections in which I “journal out loud.”

 

“Eyes Open” and “Not That Far From Here”

The first poem I shared was called Eyes Open.

 

Eyes Open

My eyes open, close, open, close

A million moments upon moments

Eyes open, eyes close

Another million blinking moments blind absent gone

Eyes open, eyes close

A world is passing unseen untouched unlived

Eyes open, eyes close

 

Eyes open

 

Eyes open

Unblinking burning begging to close

Open

Drying moistening watering spilling

Open

Seeing awake alive

Open

 

The single moment between gone

And not yet come

Open

Simply fully merely here

 

Eyes open

 

And my journaling out loud:

Literal and figurative eyes, literally and figuratively open; straining to see, to be attentive. The poem was written at a time in my journey when I still thought there was a “present moment” and that I could grab it, hold it in my hand. 

I am struck with the profound sense of moments passing; the flow of time which physics and philosophy helped me see; the process of time and change Lao Tzu helped me articulate, the essence of time as the process in which millions of moments are passing in every moment. 

The moment which I call the present has always just passed and is always just about here. This is something Henri Bergson gave me words to articulate. 

This is, as the poem says it, “The single moment between gone, and not yet come.”

In that same Episode I shared this song, Not That Far From Here.

 

Not That Far From Here

Pickin’ through memories of what we used to do

The mountains and skies and trails we knew

And wishing it had never disappeared

They say that was then and this is now

But it all feels so real somehow

It feels like it's not that far from here

Yeah, is anything ever all that far from here?

 

Yesterday was tomorrow once

And tomorrow will be yesterday when its gone

But I know now that time’s not to be feared

Ten years on when we look back 

At these days that passed while we lost track

Will they really be all that far from here?

Yeah is anything ever all that from here?

 

A wise man once said not to weep over wonders that have gone passing

But be grateful for the wonder that they ever even happened

 

The souls of the living and the souls of the dead

Are walking hand in hand in the hallways of my head

It’s hard to say what’s really real

And I sit content with all we’ve shared

Cried and lived and smiled and cared,

‘Cause I know it’s not that far from here

No nothing’s ever all that far from here

 

Nothing, and no time, and no place, and no one,

No nothing’s ever all that far from here

 

My journaling out loud: 

Yesterday, meditating on the lyrics, I saw two things I never saw before: 

First, Verse 1 and 2 are both inquisitive: 

Is anything all that far from here? Is the past gone? I am picking through memories, wishing things and events weren’t “gone.” And wondering: are they?

Second: Verse 3 is indicative:

It is a statement: no, nothing is all that far from here…the past is not gone…in fact, nothing, no one, no time, no place, it’s all near, not gone….In fact it is right here, “in the hallways of my head”…

Is that memory? Imagination? Wishful thinking? A way of perception (as Buddha might suggest), merely an “imputation” of my mind (per Immanuel Kant )?

 

My current answer: 

Philosophy and at least the eastern religions all say, one way or another, that my experience of what we call the present moment is not necessarily exactly “as it is.” My perception is not exactly the same as what is real. Physics supports this too. 

If that is true of the present moment, then is the way I “know” the past really any different than how I know the present? Could they both be real in the same way? 

Something else from the song is pressing itself onto my awareness this time.

The bridge in the song says, “not to weep over wonders that have gone passing, but be grateful for the wonder that they ever even happened.”

This speaks directly to the nostalgia I so often feel and express. It provides a tonic for the wish to hold things, a salve for the sadness they are gone. And the key ingredient in the cure, the enzyme that enables me to metabolize the past is:

Gratitude.

I gave time to meditating on this realization about gratitude, and I have come to view gratitude as a particular use of the cognitive function we call memory. Memory can be used to do all sorts of things, to stir all sorts of things: bitterness, regret, grief, revenge…or joy, and wonder. I can also take aim at the past with gratitude.

What physics and philosophy show me is that this may not be just a psychological exercise. Not just a mind game. The past and present and future, what some physicists refer to as the time scape, might be real somehow.

Some religious heritages provide me with clues as to how all these “tenses” of our lives might be real. They are real in the meeting place where my small c consciousness and a big C Consciousness intersect. Where my cognitive processes, the ways of knowing that we call memory and imagination and perception, and the ways of knowing the past and present and future in what I will call the cognitive process of a larger Consciousness are linked. I am lifting the corner on the blanket I put over that topic of Consciousness, and I will lay it back down after that glimpse under the covers of what at least some religious heritages would bring to the conversation, and bring to my interpretation of my own art.

 

“Ways of Seeing A Doorway Between Two Hallways” and “Spaces”

The third artistic piece I shared is the work I called  Three Ways of Seeing a Doorway Between Two Hallways. I shared two of the ways of seeing, Haiku and blank verse:

Seeing in Haiku: 

                            She passed the doorway

                            Eyes met, hands waved, and then gone

                            I am here, alone

 

Seeing in Blank Verse:

                            From behind a wall the sounds of a door

                            And bare feet in a hall.

                            Through the doorway, rounding a corner, 

                            She passes from one unseen to the next.

                            Our eyes meet, hands wave,

                            We are mouthing soundless words of greeting in the grey light.

                            The moment fleeting, gone.

                            I am still here, alone.

 

Since recording that Episode, I have continued to ask questions about that experience, and about time, especially in light of physics and philosophy and religion. The hallways and the sounds of feet and the door between the hallways have become like metaphors for ways of seeing time and I can summarize the central question like this:

I can’t see what happens in the hallways (past and future), does that mean the hallways are empty? Put another way, if I hear sounds (metaphor for cognitive functions like memory and imagination), am I hearing anything real? 

And the question I asked in the Episode when I thought about this poem in the light of physics:

“Were we actually in the same moment when I saw her pass? Was the moment truly gone when she had passed? And if not, was I in fact alone?”

Physics and philosophy are adding more conviction to what I have intuited for many years: the past is not gone.

I also shared a song, Spaces, which very much like the Eyes Open poem was rooted in the older Kevin’s effort to get to that one present moment in time and settle there.

 

Spaces

I see a dead moon rising, red sun going down, 

Bones of the mountains lay around me, I hear voices but they do not make a sound

 

Trying to live between the spaces of my was and my will be

Hoping behind my empty faces is a fullness of life I cannot see

 

All my persons and my personas, forged and fading works of art

Gliding past me in a mirror, that’s outside yet deep inside my heart

 

Trying to live between the spaces of my was and my will be

Hoping behind my empty faces is a fullness of life I cannot see

 

I’m clinging to the wreckage of the sunken vessel of my life

I feel the grip of fingers slipping, a voice says “just let go and slide”

 

Into the space between the spaces, of my was and my will be

And the Face behind the faces, of a fullness of life that lives in me

 

As I said, similar to the poem, “Eyes Open,” this song too was trying to grapple with whether I could find the elusive slippery present moment or whether it was never there. In the song I am trying to get to that spot that is between what was, and what will be.

And now (we can’t escape that word, can we?) I am also noticing that verse 1 opens in a mysterious place: a red moon, a dead sun, bones of mountains (deep foundations), and soundless voices that somehow, I am able to hear. It seems like a way of expressing the mysterious universe I have been further exploring in past Episodes, perhaps? 

Then in verse 2, I am watching all my “persons and personas”, which are in a mirror that is both internal and external to me.

And in verse 3, I cling to the wreckage of a life (the past!). The verse includes what for me is really the culmination of whatever message the song may carry: 

“…let go and slide…”

Quit trying, just drop into that space between the spaces. And what is found there in that space? 

Something that the earlier verses were wondering about: a life that is other than and deeper than my life…a life that is behind my face…my empty face…

In the song it turns out that this life has a Face, the Face that is behind my face, behind all faces, a Face that is really a fullness of life….a life that is at the same time in me…And from how the song unfolds, seems to have been in me all along.

Once again, such an insight swerves the podcast towards consciousness! And once again, I have to pause that!

 

“I Saw Your Eyes” and “Unset Bones”

Two more artistic pieces to look at. The first is another song, I Saw Your Eyes.

 

I Saw Your Eyes 

I saw your eyes you did not see me

You were a child staring down the street

At the taillights disappearing, you were trying so hard not to grieve

Then you turned around and walked right through me

And I saw your eyes

 

I saw your eyes no words were needed

I knew all I had to know

You’ve been haunted by all these demons 

Clinging to you down every road you go

And you always say it doesn’t matter

But I saw your eyes

 

Torn window screen, creaking open door, paint peeling in the hall

Locket on a silver chain, mama says, “take it it’ll ease the pain”

She’s staring at the wall

 

I saw your eyes like empty spaces

Aching hollow pools of fear

And I wish that I could try and free you 

And make all those dark dreams disappear 

But nothing I can do will ever reach you 

I saw your eyes

 

I see your eyes still not believing 

What you saw there on that day

I see wild things all around you

And you’re trying hard to be so brave

I see your hand wrapped around that locket

And I see your eyes

 

There is so much happening in that song! But it is all rooted in the scene of the opening verse:

“Then you turned around and walked right through me, and I saw your eyes”

In the scene, times and selves merge and blend. The pronouns “you” and “I/me” are referring to the same person, a person who is meeting themselves in a moment of time that is present for one version of themself, and past for the other version. Merged like this, they are not “one” and “other”, they are one and the same. Because their times have merged. 

The song is an extended reflection on this blending of selves or self, in two different times which are not present.

The song also expresses what it is like to seek to help in the process of healing the inner child that is very much alive inside us all. The whole song is an interaction between an older version of a person with their own inner child.

Although I use the song to tell a story that is not purely autobiographical, as it happens, that child is me, my inner child.

What does it matter or mean that my inner child is still me, that the events and people and voices of the early 1960’s in front of a house where I lived when my parents split are echoing and shimmering in my inner being? Is it “just” a memory? Is memory just electrical impulses in my brain? Or is memory a mode by which all of that still has existence, still has real being-ness? 

Unset Bones is the poem that concludes the artistic expressions of the prior Episodes. In some ways the poem is like an expanded meditation on the simple phrase in my song, Spaces, namely the line “let go and slide.” This poem is really all about letting go, facing things without trying to fix anything, just knowing, being aware, seeing, allowing everything to “be there.”

 

Unset Bones

Marrow between unknit bones, an old break,

Knotted ends jagged yearning grasping toward each other

Across the tissue padded gap, tender flesh filling in for bone.

 

Under pressure the whole mass shifts, swerves, out of line

Wiring a dull signal of ache up the nerve-ways

To whatever place in the moist gray cave 

Is assigned to register complaint

A throbbing familiar ebb at the edges of a wrinkled consciousness

 

A man alone near a window, a dimming room, in a yellowing house 

Old things pulling dust to themselves on walls lined with shelves 

Water marks of memory drying down into a muddy bed 

A declining evening in the declining days

Of a man long past measuring things by the years, or the weeks, or the days

That may be left.

 

He is not seeking to numb 

Does not rename the sudden flares that explode light 

Onto twisted dream shapes tortured out of forgotten holes in buried places

Does not dumb down regret, 

Does not seek a mirror to face the ways 

His days were traced by other eyes.

 

Nor does he bind a blindfold 

Does not drown down the minutes, filling his ears with other sounds

Does not paint over a memory with false faces.

 

He leans neither from nor towards the dull pulse 

Down in the bruises between the old bones.

In the aching center.

 

He is waiting his way in and out and through the passing of his days.

 

His passive face turned random to the window.

A wall creaks, a rafter settles.

The tissue between the bones is humming. 

There is a plane’s ebbing drone high and away and beyond him

In the clouding sky.

 

In contemplative forms of meditation one common piece of advice I have received, and given, is to be aware of thoughts and emotions that may be darting around in our consciousness and in our bodies; see them and feel them and “hear them.” And then just let them float and pass like clouds in a sky; let them pass along.  To use it like a metaphor, give your attention to the sky, not the clouds. For me that is the present. It is not a “now,” it is a way of being. 

In other words, being present is the present. 

Therefore, I no longer seek to be in the now, but rather, in the flow of the ongoing river of time that flows into me and out from me, carrying me along in its steady but relentless current.

Now it is time to wrap this Episode up!

 

Time to Conclude

I have been asking questions about time and in the last few Episodes I looked at pragmatic answers, and to the answers of physics, and to the voices of philosophy and religion. 

Is time absolute? Did it begin and will it end? Are the past and present and future real? And of course, there was the more personal question that started all this, “when did I begin”?

Now for my answers! In keeping with the title, the art of time, here is how I will share my conclusions about time: 

 

I am afloat on moving waters

Beneath the shifting skies

Past, present, future, time itself

Adrift about me like leaves 

Falling as feathers 

On the silver rippling river

 

I am floating

I am carried

I am here and there and now and then

I am this self in this place and this time,

As I am also in that place, at that time

I am this self in all the places and times

Afloat on moving waters

Littered with feathers

And the silver rippling river…

 

“Yes, well, not sure I am following you, but Kevin, I still want to know, when did you begin?”

At the end of the day (interesting time based idiom, isn’t it?) rather than drawing from physics or philosophy or my art to answer that, maybe the pragmatic view of time is best after all. If nothing else, it gives the semblance of certainty:

March 5, 1958.

Until next time…