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Today is the eleventh of November in the year 2011 (C.E.):

~ 11.11.11 ~

Time, as an abstract, is endless.  But it renders everything else excruciatingly finite, and that which is finite is rare, fleeting and precious — and not to be wasted.  The concept of Time is a human construct, invented so we may define — and thereby hopefully influence, if not control — the parameters of a human lifespan and the events that take place within it,…

… but that was just another delusion, too.

And when we discovered to our heartbreak that we could not control our creation that we named ‘Time’ we went and invented numerology.

An aside ~ why does Time get to fly while the rest of us have to walk?

Bloody unfair, if you ask me.

The mutable and fickle nature of Time — as in going too fast when we’re having fun, and not fast enough when we’re suffering — should be proof enough that it’s intractable and will never allow itself to be wrangled, to serve our petty and desperate whims.

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