mahiwaga

The problem with all this is that all good things must come to an end. At least for me. I feel like for normal, well adjusted souls, they are able to weather the changing tide. Me, I get sucked into the riptide, then spat up again onto the rocky, unforgiving beach.

As my friends have told me in some long-gone era, I favor extremes too much.

Is there a way to hope without risking disappointment? No, I guess not, because that doesn’t make any sense. If there was no risk, it wouldn’t be hope. It would be inevitable. Predestined.

Although, I’ve got to tell you, sometimes I can’t help but wish that some supernatural force could tell me that some day, everything will be all right. Or, alternatively, it could also tell me that I’m utterly doomed, and I might as well enjoy the ride while I still can.

The problem with existentialism is that there is no rest for the weary.

I don’t know. I don’t know. What is it I want? What thing is there in the world that is within my reach that can grant me lasting contentment? Is all happiness horrifically effervescent? Is there no way to hang on to this feeling of hope and well-being? Does the darkness have to always come so soon?

An echo reverberates across the stream of time, the words come to me compounded, like waves of harmonics piling on top of each other: Why can’t I set my heart on a possible thing?

I don’t know. Maybe I just like misery. Lest my last post mislead you, nothing terrible is happening right now. It’s just this feeling of evanescence that is haunting me. I’m too content these days, and I worry that there’s something horrific awaiting me in the days to come.

Now, part of it is probably justified anxiety in the fact that I only have another ten days living this kind of chill lifestyle, and then I’m going to be back to the grind of an 80 hour work week and sleepless nights.

But there’s a part of my soul that cannot rest, cannot learn how to be content, how to revel in the moment, and not fear the future.

There’s a part of me that keeps thinking, something wicked this way comes.

What I am trying to learn is that the universe has it’s natural ebbs and flows, and just because I’m happy now doesn’t mean that I will have to pay dearly later for this happiness.

At least that’s how I console myself.

Please, please, please let me, let me, let me get what I want.

I just don’t want things to fall apart like they usually do.

Things have got to be different.

I’m trying to train myself to expect each day to be better than the last. That seems to be the key to keep me from falling back into despair, to realize that every moment has no only the potential, but the reality of being better than the last.

I just don’t know what I’m trying to say.

The possibility of time travel is actually still an open question. There is nothing in Einstein’s theory of Relativity that prevents it from happening, although the conditions that would be required to allow it to happen seem pretty insurmountable. (For example, you would need a rotating universe, or a nearby cosmic string, or some exotic material that exerts anti-gravity which could keep a wormhole conduit stable and open, none of which are within the technological abilities of humanity at this time.) Still, I am hopeful.

There is the question that, if time machines are possible, how come we haven’t run into a time traveller yet? Where are all the tourists? Well, one is the possibility that time tourism is forbidden, and this is strictly enforced by Time Police. Then there is the possibility that maybe there are time tourists, we just don’t know it. Or we do know it, but we refuse to believe them. (For example, John Titor. I myself am agnostic on the issue thus far.) Then there’s the technical consideration that maybe you can’t travel back to a time where time machines haven’t been invented yet. For example, this would be the limitation of a wormhole conduit—you can only travel to a time when the wormhole already existed.

Maybe it’s because I was weaned on “Back to the Future.” Maybe it’s because I’m a geeky nerd who has watched a few too many Star Trek episodes that involve way too many time paradoxes. Then there is the cult classic video game Chronotrigger. For too many reasons to list, I am obsessed with the idea of time travel.

There is also Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I have probably internalized some of his philosophy regarding time. He postulates the existence of extraterrestial life that has the ability to see in four dimension instead of just our limited three. To them, time doesn’t really exist, it’s just another spatial dimension like up-and-down, left-and-right, forward-and-backward. It’s possible. There is a mindset that believes the universe already exists in its final form, that the universe is static (when considered four-dimensionally) and the passage of time is merely an illusion promulgated by our brains. To paraphrase the words of the Oracle from “The Matrix,” you’ve already made your decisions, what you’re trying to figure out is why you made them.

Maybe it’s the fact that one of my most favorite songs (and apparently, one of the most covered songs in all history) is “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper. I have various memories attached to the cover version done by INOJ, and I find the version done by Everything But the Girl particularly haunting (particularly when juxtaposed with their song “Mirrorball”)

The other romantic notion I have about time travel is that perhaps the theory of many worlds describes reality. Every decision that could be made has been made, so that each breaking point splits off into different splinter universes. There are universes where there was no Big Bang. There are universes where the Roman Empire never fell. There are universes where Al Gore took up his rightful position as President of the United States and the rest of the world still looked up to us and perhaps the tragedy of 9/11 never happened.

Mostly, I like to fantasize that there are universes where a particular woman I think about a lot actually reciprocated my feelings for her, which is a universe that is far different from the one I am typing this blog entry from, one in which my life is far fuller, and far happier.

Maybe the time tourists are what we think of as ghosts. That is another fantasy of mine: to travel back in time and watch an alternate scenario to my life, see what would happen if I made certain other decisions, took certain other risks.

Sometimes in my darkest moments, I imagine that seeing a happier version of myself would be enough to let me go on living. Even though that life would never be actually mine, it would be something to know that once upon a time, if I had made the right decision, things might have gone well.

Of course, there is always the possibility that there are no right decisions.

Sometimes it’s just the flip of the coin. A butterfly effect, if you will. If a butterfly flaps its wings in Molucca, what will the weather in San Diego be like?

Like Douglas Adams’ universe where a stray photon made four-leaf clovers the common variety, so that three-leaf clovers are the ones considered good luck.

Or imagine a world where FDR wasn’t infected with polio and didn’t end up paraplegic.

Or Phillip K Dick’s nightmarish world where the Axis won World War II.

My troubles are small compared to the trials and tribulations of history, I suppose.

It’s all about perspective.

Still, I wish I could figure out how to traverse the fourth dimension at will. Maybe somehow slink through hyperspace, or travel through imaginary coordinate systems.

Maybe there are worlds where my dreams are reality, my reality my dreams (or nightmares.)

What if, what if? My plague, my downfall. What I’ve got to learn to do is focus on what is, not what might be, I guess.

On the other hand, maybe there is only Now, and the past and the future are the illusions promulgated by the brain.

God help me.