The Train of Thought

The Caboose

If there's one thing I hate, its being in the dark. If it weren't for the clock hanging over what appears to be a doorway off in the distance, I wouldn't be able to see a thing. Under these conditions, I would have to say that time seems to take on a much greater significance when it's used to light the way. It's as if it had discovered a way to define my existence while keeping me in the dark. How's that for a mystical paradox? From the glow of its florescent arms I could barely make out the doorway's outline in front of me. The problem is, of course, that it still doesn't tell me where I am.

Getting to my feet made me realize that the darkness was so thick I couldn't even see myself standing up. All sense of direction, distance, even my own physical existence has been reduced to a state of sheer feeling and sensation. I know that I can move but only because I can feel my body going through the motions. It's probably a lot like what a baby feels inside its mother's womb. And even this is not very clear to me. That is, I can say that I feel my body moving, but the truth of the matter is that what I am really feeling is a sense of mass that I believe is my body and the mass itself is apparently defined to me by a sense of motion. Does that count as my body? Is it too late to abort?

What am I doing here? What is this place? O.K., if I'm ever going to find out anything about where I am, I'm going to have to get moving. The idea here, of course, is that location is inherently relative. In this case, any movement I could possibly make would only be meaningful in relation to the clock on the wall. Therefore, what I need to do now is move towards the clock. It's funny how movement in the dark make you feel like you need to verify your motions. For example, am I swinging my arms? Naturally, I feel like I'm swinging my arms but what could that possibly mean in the dark? For that matter, what is the real relationship between swinging my arms and moving closer to the clock on the wall?

This reminds me of a time when I was about three of four years old. I remember leaning over the handlebars of my tricycle and resting my head on my arms while I enjoyed the warmth of the hot summer sun penetrating my body. As I rested there with my mind floating freely in the feeling of penetrating warmth, I would look at the front wheel of my tricycle in complete wonderment, much the same way I'm looking at the clock right now. Although I didn't realize it at the time, even the motion of the wheel on my tricycle is relative to time.

It would always amaze me how predictable and consistent the motion of the wheel was in relation to moving forward or backward, left or right. If I turned the wheel to the left and moved my tricycle backwards, I would move in a circle that starts with the house of the lady next door and then I would see my house, the grocery store on the corner of the block, then the shop on the corner across the street. If I continued, I would then see the house directly across the street from mine, the empty lot, the bus repair station, the house of the lady next door and then my house. But if I turned the wheel to the right and moved backwards, I would see everything in reverse, starting with the lady next door, the bus repair station, the empty lot and so on. 

I realize now how important the lessons provided to me by my tricycle must have been to a young child of three or four. I was undoubtedly setting the stage for understanding the rest of my life in this physical existence. That is, my acquaintance with spatial relations and boundaries is indeed a defining characteristic of my accepted reality and time is a necessary ingredient. But could it have been otherwise? In other words, is there an alternate reality that I am foregoing for being here in this reality of time?

But wait, what does it mean for me to remember my childhood? Is this memory truly of me? I mean, when I think about this memory I seem to think that it was me at a certain stage in my life. I believe that I remember thinking, feeling and doing all of the things I remembered. How can this make any sense, though? How can a three or four year old boy be studying complex geometric functions and metaphysical relations? At the age of three or four I didn't even know the words to fully describe everything I thought, felt and did. It seems that there is more to life than meets the eye. Tell that to your clock on the wall.

In fact, now that I'm on the subject, let's rethink this whole notion of time. The thing that bothers me is that I just got through saying that everything that I am and know is relative to the clock on the wall.  All movement, all sense of location, everything I think and feel is relative to this all encompassing, all defining, clock.  But what about my childhood? So, what gives life to my memory? Now it appears that there is an inside and an outside reality. The outside reality seems to be governed by the clock on the wall but the inside reality seems to be never ending, never changing, eternal.

I need to get out of this place, wherever it is. Do you have any idea what it feels like to move in virtual darkness? Movement itself becomes an exercise in remembering the varied relations between time and space. I know I'm getting closer to the door because the clock on the wall is getting bigger and the light that emanates from it is getting brighter. What I don't know is what to expect from the other side of the door. 

Now that I have reached the door, I still can't see enough to find the handle. It's a good thing that I've studied my spatial relations and probability factors. I don't really need to see the handle to know where it is. That is, I know that the handle should be located at arms length from the height of the average person that is right handed. All I need is a little faith and a willingness to reach out.

As I extended my hand to touch the handle, I felt very confident and I knew it would be there. Nevertheless, I could feel the excitement mount as I proceeded but not for finding the handle, as that truly is accepted on the basis of faith, but for what I might find on the other side of the door.........