26. September 2019 Author: Diana

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Now I was again in front of a threshold. There was no question whether I wanted to pass it or not. For that, I was there. I was curious, and I wanted to find out what was behind that door. A massive metal door embedded in concrete walls. Would I find there the library I have imagined? That old library, full of papyri, books old and new, full of dust and lit only by some faint reading lamps? A lock closes the door. But it didn’t seem to need a key to open it. I entered.

Inside, the pitch-black darkness struck me. I didn’t see anything. Only after a while, my eyes got used to this darkness. Oh, it seemed some faint stripes of coloured light were tearing and shattering the darkness. It appeared from the place where I guessed to be the centre of the room. The surprise got big when I realised I have entered an empty room. A vast room, a dome that reached to the floor. An empty hemisphere.

Over my head, I could see the projected imagines that being overlapped. An uncomfortable feeling overwhelmed me when I realised that the unfolding pictures were specks of my entire life. And I mean entire. Past, present and future. The images from the present and most of the past ones were clear. But those from the future were blurred, contorted, so their content could not be decrypted.

Intrigued, I wondered about the source of these images. In the centre of the room, there was a tiny light flashing to the ceiling. I approached it. On a pedestal is a small device, no larger than a € 1 coin. Something that looked like a chip to which a LED or laser was connected. “Where do these images come from, who created them?” I asked rhetorically. My voice echoed into the room, breaking in thousands pieces.” You! You, you, you, you … “, I heard a voice coming from everywhere and yet it from nowhere. “Am I just a chip?” The voice burst into a loud ironic laugh. “Just a chip? The chip is just the interface through which you project yourself to the outside world.”. The answer surprised me. “I?”. “What do you mean?” I asked, forcing for an explanation.

In front of me, I saw my whole life. “You are the one who creates and projects what you see here.”, answered the vibrating voice. “How is everything here at once, present, past and future as a mix of jumble bumble. How is that possible? “, I asked again. “Time doesn’t exist,” said the voice now softened. “Still, for you being able to notice, learn, experiment, all the things called life, had to have been ordered, sequenced, organised so you can find the meaning in them. Thus, time appeared, but to an absolute level, it does not exist. And though everything exists”, explained the voice.

I probably have looked baffled, and the voice felt the need to continue with the explanation. “Imagine you are in a library …”. “Ah, the library,” I said, interrupting her. “Yes, the library, and instead of having the books beautifully arranged on shelves, by genre, year, author, etc. you would find them in a large pile in the middle of the room. You couldn’t make much sense out of that, isn’t it? You wouldn’t know where, how, and what to look for. You wouldn’t know where to start and where to finish. Everything would stagnate. Therefore, to give things an order, time was created.”

I was surprised. “How about the future? Does this mean that the future is predestined if it coexists with present and past?”, I asked. “Nope. See, you cannot see the future clearly. The future is a multitude of possibilities, nothing is yet coagulated, and it depends on the choices you make today. Then a filter prevents you from seeing even an image that you may have already concretised in the future. If there were no such filter, all the mirage of life, all the mystery, all the passion would disappear.”

“And you, voice, who are you?”. “You … know this very well!”, was the reply.
I left the voice and the room, coming again in the daylight, that it seems I create by myself. After this all happening, I could say I was overwhelmed. I wasn’t. I was just thinking. There, in the depths of my soul, spirit and mind, I knew well all these things. But I have them elegantly ignored.

Time is just an illusion.