It feels as though time is racing faster and faster in my brain as I grow older. Tempus fugit! I suppose that Virgil experienced the same phenomenon, having been the first to write those words. He said,
Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore, (But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail (Georgics).
There are always a million things to do and not enough time to do them. The mundanities of life require much more time than things with real intrinsic value. I suppose the mundanities also have their place; we would not be able to continue on through life without them.
It is tragic, however, that time is irretrievable. Only through memory and imagination can we relive the moments we have experienced. At least we have those.
Time opens into the next moment in an endless chain of moments (Is it linear or cyclical?). The rapidity with which they pass seems to be connected to our state of consciousness. In a dream-state, time really has no meaning at all. During pleasant experiences, or when we are engaged in something that requires our utmost attention, the pace of time seems to increase. During states of boredom and inactivity, time slows to a snail’s pace. Why do we experience time like this?
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