I used to think that Salvador Dali’s drooping, melting clocks were just the machinations of a deranged mind. Time was a static, sequential, consistent linear flow of events with attached numbers. Time could be plotted out by stories followed by more stories of human events. Now I am not so sure Dali was as deranged as I had first imagined. Last week I watched my granddaughter graduate from college and for a moment I saw a tiny little girl just able to walk dancing up and down with glee when my wife, her grandma came into the breakfast room. That momentary vision was as real as the noon sun beating down on the commencement service.
I enjoy going to bed at night because each night is a wonderful journey into the past. I go for rides with my father. I hear my son’s childhood voices. I sit with my sisters around a small kitchen table eating my mother’s cornpone. My wife wonders why I take so many naps. The secret is I take free trips randomly selected from 70 years of a very rich life. Time travel is but a nap away.
Time melts into a confection sweet. The clock droops with history written by those who want to tell a story by cherry picking events consistent with their beliefs. Recently I had to smile at someone ranting about history being rewritten, as if the first account was accurate. If I should talk with my sisters who were with me those first years I am sure their recollections would be different, filtered through what they want to remember.
So what will this thing promised by Jesus called eternal life be like? Finding out will be an endless adventure.
Spring Of Life