The Endless River

The Endless River
Wheel of time

Time flows like an endless river, and I with it. How much time? Impossible to say, and an exhaustingly fruitless endeavour to calculate. Like counting grains of sand in a dessert while missing the majestic beauty of the dunes themselves. It is utterly the wrong question to ask, though it is a natural progression brought on by the insatiable appetite of curiosity, always seeking to stave it's burning hunger with palatable understanding.

A better question would be, is time a universal constant? Or does the observer's perception alone define its flow? Or is it both? And above all, what's it all for? There certainly is a lot of it lying about. ​​

There's always more time inside the time. Endless spirals with no beginning, no end. Seemingly an impossible statement, and yet an undeniable truth all at once. That is the river's greatest mystery, and the very quality that makes it endless. That it has no beginning.

It's all so very relative, to where you are standing, and who is doing the looking. Or swimming in the case of this humble cosmic tuna. ​