Time travel. Always fascinating. Always interesting. Often because time itself is kind of loopy. Kind of mystical. Paradoxical. Mysterious. And openly so. Openly full of possibility. Full of the present, certainly. But also full of the past. Heavy with the history of everything. The story of everything that has happened. And bright. Infinitely bright. With the immediacy of now. The raw power of now. The immense and awful and incomprehensible now. And of course the beauty. The extraordinary beauty of what is about to unfold. About to flower. About to open out like so many indeterminate and surprising petals of a new flower. A flower no one has ever seen before.
So living. Just plain slim-milk living. Straight-ahead normal put-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other living. Is the gathering of the past into the present, is it not? And this on a continuum. On a moving diorama, rolling the past up into the present. The recollection of many pasts into the present. A past that is the accumulation of uncountable choices and random processes. A present that is the accumulation of uncountable choices and random processes. Or pseudo-random processes, if you really must put a fine point on it. Pseudo-random processes. Think about that! Apparent randomness. A randomness that is merely apparent, because there is directionality, is there not? Directionality, then? Built into the very stuff of existence?
And then the present. The present itself. Anything is possible here. Anything may happen. One has infinite freedom. God has infinite freedom and access. He may appear anywhere. In anything. In anyone. In any circumstance or event or process or. Well, you get the idea. And he does. The present is vibrant because of him. With him. Through him. The present is infinite with him. In him. Touch the world. Touch another. The Other. And anything may happen. It’s ridiculous, I know. It’s absurd. Like I say, it’s loopy. This Kingdom business. This Kingdom presence everywhere around us here. In us here. Among us here.
Because what are we doing here, anyway? Aren’t we making? Participants in the making? In the transformation of time? The remaking of time? The reformation of time from fixed and measurable intervals. Mechanical counting of intervals. Into the infinite expanse of God’s own participation? God’s own expansion and metamorphosis of time?
Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think we are not just time travelers. Sometimes I think we are time writers. That we have been asked to open time up. To expand time. To discover in what seems like ordinary time, extraordinary time. What is a practically boundless experience of time. A time that is not countable. That has no intervals. That is continuous. Or discontinuous. That is extensive into regions I personally have little idea of but that are characterized everywhere by the feeling that God. Well. Is everywhere there. Or here, I should say.