Reflections On Time

This evening, an old family friend called. She wanted to talk about quantum physics, with sidetracks to Proust and Shakespeare, Greek mythology, nanotech intelligences, and a whole bunch of really peculiar stuff which my poor aching head could hardly tie together.

Well, that set me off on a tangent of self-discovery. As I type this, I am timing myself. Can I be coherent? Will the quality suffer badly, as I type my thoughts against time, the clicking of the keys against the ticking of the clock? Is it like chess, where some moves are pre-analysed and both players breeze through them without much thought? Or is it like a race, in which one might not know how much each second counts until it is almost at an end?

I remember writing examination essays a long time ago. The dank air of the auditorium consumed sensation like a pall. After an hour of that punishment, my essay was done and I was dozing. The invigilators thought I was ill — after all, there were still ninety minutes or so left in the examination. But I was done. Why would one want to take longer than necessary to write for an examination? Of course, careful checking and editing is possible, and indeed, laudable. Yet, it isn't always the best thing — occasionally, instinct must override ratiocination.

I remember writing my Master's thesis in ten days. The incubation period, however, was about thirty months. I wrote exactly two chapters in three days. Then there was this really long hiatus, which worried everyone except my very encouraging supervisor. I had to go to Tennessee for a while. When I got back, I was on the verge of disaster. Then inspiration struck and those ten days ground out the rest of my almost 60,000 words.

This post has taken not more than seven minutes. The thought can indeed be father to the act; where will and power are one, so let it be, as Dante's Virgil said.