Time Pickled my Fancy

In the story I am currently reading by Clive Barker, called Weaveworld, the opening line states, “Nothing ever begins.” That is it, just a one line paragraph. What a great opening line. It is a very humorous, yet intriguing opening line to a book and it is the reason I chose the book over numerous others lined along next to it in the second hand bookshop I frequent every now and again when there is some reading to do. To me, I interpreted the line as meaning that time has always been. It’s like the old saying that for every action there is a reaction. By stating that there are no beginnings, this means that time always was, is, and will be in a perpetual state of being.
This made me think of the paradoxical state of being we live in. Where though we organize our duration of our lives into nice little measurements upon which we can categorize and understand things. We humans have this need to measure and organize everything, from the amount of time which passes to the amount of slime a slug exudes in a specific allotted distance traveled. We have to know the what, where, why, when, how of everything. The better we can scientifically examine, explain, and thusly predict the outcomes of everything, supposedly the better we will understand ourselves. Yet the further we investigate, understand, try to comprehend the meaning of every little detail as we categorize them, a little more of us becomes lost in the fray. We become cluttered under our stacks and volumes of categorized information. We overly become cynical of everything and everyone, erasing the magic that mystery once held. We transform the soul, the mind, everything into tinier and tinier fractions until there is nothing left to scrutinize (at least till technology catches up), and what then becomes of us?
Time has been indoctrinated into our languages as well. Such words as moment, then, now, again, when, as, and etcetera are the words that fill our vocabularies to help ourselves communicate, and thusly understand each other when communicating, by means of separating our lives once again into nifty little units of measurement. It is unavoidable. Even as I write this, I am unable to edit out the words indicating measurement of time. Practically every other word mentions a degree of time. It is impossible not to use them.
Time is an abstract notion, which mathematically can be justified, though mathematics equally being abstract, it becomes a hollow issue. Like one of Plato’s “forms,” time is something above what is comprehendible. It is a pure essence of which we will never grip. Sure, we can say we understand it, and say, like the cliché, that we feel its effects upon us everyday, but do any of us truly know what time is, or is it saner to simply walk away and ignore the part of us which cannot fathom? Too much of our lives could be wasted in search for a metaphysical, unpalatable pursuit.
Time is used to explain/organize what cannot be explained. It is just another nifty contrivance like God or the supernatural. What is abstract (like the essence or true form of a chair, which I suppose would be the textbook, minimalized definition of a chair) is something that only exists in our minds. Time is no different. What I hold true to be a minute in my head does not necessarily constitute a minute in the mind of a fellow peer. The means of measuring units of time are myriad in nature. The division of time our scientists, and what has become common knowledge (we often take for granted), tell us it takes for the Moon to circle around the Earth are not ipso facto in the eyes of some celestial being that may or not exist.
So, then what could be my conclusion or even point to what has obviously become an irrelevant harangue in my and probably your opinions? Much of that is still being debated upon, tested, retested, measured, prodded, set to flames, extinguished and set aflame once again in our laboratories as you are reading this. When we at Drunkboy Industries finalize our results, you can be one of the first to hear about them. Until that faceless moment, I will resolve to belabor just one more point about this, already by my behalf, worn out topic. Seeing as measuring time is abstract as it is also an irrelevant necessary, where we are faced with flowing along with its usefulness as a means to live daily life without chaos, it may serve for some to sit back every now and again and try to solve the rubrics cube of time. It would help to just sit back and contemplate the absurdity which regiments their daily routines, to lax their straightforward and ultimate goal searching attitudes and laugh at the folly which beguiles mankind toward the end of existence. Again, because we all love to use clichés, those who live by the sword shall perish by it. As with time, those who live by it too will vanish all the quicker if they live for it, in it, by it. Perish the notions the future may hold in store for us, as there is no future. As there are no beginnings, there too are no ends, if you let it be so.