Great trials and tribulations, Veilbound. You have stepped into… The Colony of Illusion. Adjust your perception upon the Pillar of Existence known as Time, where there are no perfect circles or straight lines.
Humanity has done its best to capture, dissect, dissolve, and control time. The great shapeshifter laughs from the summit of its pillar as it warps itself to the mirage around our perceptions. The flow of becoming transforms potential into reality in sequential patterns of growth, decay, and change of spiraling recurrence. Trembling minds desperate for continuity in the fetish of progress must shed their disease to embark on the journey toward experiencing separation and unity.
To the ancients, time was a serpent devouring itself—the Ouroboros. A symbol of the eternal renewal where each moment birthed the next in an unbroken cycle. The earliest recorded deception resides in an Egyptian funerary text, the Enigmatic Book of the Netherworld, discovered in Tutankhamen’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings. In this depiction, the Ouroboros represented the unity of Osiris (the underworld) and Ra (the sun) in the cycle of infinity. The Ouroboros has been a symbol adopted and integrated across cultures.
Time has been tracked through many methods. In lunar cycles, solar cycles, the merge of lunisolar, mathematics, sundials, water clocks, leap years, epochs, mechanics, and eventually time was reformed in the Gregorian Calendar by Pope Gregory XIII. This relic of empire and control has chained humanity in an unnatural hallucination. A clockwork golem we kneel before in rigid months and arbitrary divisions that has molded existence to an affliction of precision. Now we seek to dissect the cosmic organism into linear increments in the belief that to master it, it must be measured. The symphonic metronome exists only within our apprehension.
A Paradox
Does the past stretch behind us? The future unfolding in the distance? Or does humanity desperately cope in its nervous, finite flesh? The paradoxical whirlpool loops, fractures, folds, and bleeds—a Möbius strip, if you will.
Records are not stable before us in the present moment. The past is a decaying artifact mutating in every recollection. The necromantic act of memory is a ritual in which who we once were is but a mask to dawn. Our historians are mythmakers discovering conjurations in the grimoire of painted distortions. The prismatic obelisk refracts what is needed to believe so that we might bow to phantoms of yesteryear. A foundation built upon fictions of certainty.
I am no longer the person I once was. I am eternally devoured as neurons die, memories fade, and witnesses cease to exist. Yet, I persist in the echoes that no longer resemble my current state. I am not a fixed entity, though I am represented through the symbols and myths that permeate our species. You will find me in the deepest well, reliving the traumas of my ancestors in new disguises. This is but one interpretation in the lens of self-deception.
The mirror reflects what best serves the needs of the present. An improvisation of overlapping perceptions colliding in subjective frames of reference that divert in each instant. Is time but an imposed artificial order of chaos? The structure where existence ceases to be theoretical as cause and effect dissolve through one another. Reach towards the present for it to vanish in shifting frequencies as it is sliced into digestible fragments so that we do not go mad with the sheer weight of existence.
A Dream
The past may be a lie. The present may be an illusion. The future is the one phenomenon we have yet to steal fire from. Programmers, market analysts, and advertisers understand the future must be willed into being, attention combusting into form. Utopian visions, economic models, or political strategies dangling the meal before the beast.
A million minds bring a dream into existence as a promise of tomorrow justifies today. Collective expectation collapses fragments of possibility to assemble tangible reality, it only waits for an observer, an alchemist, or god-in-flesh. Perception precedes reality. Do you see this as an opportunity or as a prison?
If occurrences repeat, we are destined to live similar experiences time and again believing we are heading somewhere as we spiral through infinite variations of the same themes. The future has become a tool used by the architects of control to defer meaning.
A Aeonic Spell
We stand at the crossroads of the ghosts of a thousand forgotten pasts, existential confusion, and technological acceleration. The synthetic construct of the current timekeeping system persists the delusion of weeks and workdays, fiscal quarters and daylight savings, of industry standardizing commerce, taxation, and war. This system has no respect for the pulse of the human psyche, the song of the equinoxes, or respect for the lunar tides. Its cadence of artificial segmentation is integrated into our minds, severing our spirits from the eternal dance of the stars.
Mystics of old hold time as an illusion, scientists of now view time as relative, and madmen find time is running out. So it goes. Will we peer through time to view it as entangled reflections of the cosmic mirror? Embrace the reoccurrence as we laugh at the absurdity of it all?
Time is matter and myth, experience and equation, flesh and mechanism—the engine of becoming. A medium through which consciousness experiences itself. The quantum sorcerers of the modern age are beginning to remember the past is memory, the future is anticipation, and the present is the act of perception itself.
A Chronologic Convergence
At the moment of publishing, we are adrift in the 21st century of the unrecognizable mutation of time—a cybernetic hallucination, a fragmented and looping simulation where the past is rewritten in real-time, the present is a hyperactive blur, and the future is a junkie chasing the next fix of meaning. Is there hope for our souls to attune with sacred fluctuations of celestial design once more?
The counterfeit machine must be dismantled to forge a new calendar in the luminosity of the cosmos, an alchemical fusion of metacosmic wisdom and archetypal rhythms of the psyche. Imagine a new time that alters the myth of humanity to alter consciousness itself.
Align with the primordial force of the unconscious—thirteen moons, thirteen archetypes to correspond to phases of initiation, transformation, and renewal, guiding individuals in their psychic evolution. Equinoxes and solstices serve as the waypoints for the turning of the Earth and our souls—the times of ecstatic celebration, communal reflection, and ritualized dreaming. The days named after the elemental forces of nature: Void, Light, Aether, Chaos, Order, Psyche, and Eros. The beginning of a new year in synchronization of thought, intention, and manifestation as the first sunrise is met in the silent breath of awakening.
The rhythm of life will no longer be dictated by fiscal years and workweeks, the practicality of bureaucrats and bankers. Practical is just another word for domesticated. Reality is a script, and the greatest trick is there is only one version. A choice remains: continue servitude in a calendar designed by emperors and popes or step beyond the illusion into a rhythm that pulses in the true breath of the cosmos.
Wow, I say I am chained to the clock I live In milliseconds as an over the road tractor trailer driver. The Duality of loving life, new experiences traveling & still completing the “same task” is complex to say the least 💕
Bravo