FWR wrote, 'Was reading the thread about time travel this afternoon, DG. What's your thoughts on this?' My thought was that I was astonished, as usual, at what kind of insights get shared when you post a simple journal entry. This one's eye-opening.
Time Travel and Bowls of Soup
A while back I had a dream, one of those HDR 3D surround sound dreams that stay with you for weeks.
The house I called my childhood home was dark, derelict almost. I'd gone home – even though my consciousness knew the small terrace had been demolished two decades ago. Home to have dinner with my mother, even though I knew she too had been taken years before the bulldozers came.
"What's for tea, mum? I'm starving."
"It's in the fridge, love," she smiled back, moving towards the now decrepit shell that she'd nourished her family from all those years ago.
I remember being somewhat horrified as the fridge door creaked open, dislodging decades of dust and cobwebs, scared to look inside.
My dream mood lightened as a beautiful and steaming hot roast dinner was placed before me. My mum smiled, "Remember this one thing, love, just remember, Time Does Not Matter." She placed her hand on my shoulder as I eagerly began eating.
"But the house has been gone...you've been gone such a long time mum?"
"What have I just this second asked you to remember?" Again that indulgent smile.
"Time doesn't matter, but..."
From somewhere she had produced half a dozen bowls, each holding a serving of bright vegetable soup.
Stacking them one atop the other, liquid spilling over the table.
"Imagine each lifetime is a bowl, into that lifetime all memories, loves, heartaches, everything you experience is placed. Mixed with everyone else's memories from that lifetime, like a great big soup, yea?"
I nodded, mouth full of delicious chicken.
"Once that lifetime is over, the memories and experiences remain, just replaced by the next bowlful of soup. It hasn't disappeared, just covered up a little,", she placed another bowl down, liquid dribbled out and down.
"Some memories overlap lifetimes," she motioned to the drips, "others leak through and merge with others, cracks appear allowing some to glimpse the past, travel backwards into others memories. Fewer still can communicate with these memories, dipping into the soup of their ancestors." She paused, placing an empty but cracked bowl on the top. Orange soup began leaking through, puddling up into the white ceramic.
"Every now and then other lifetimes can creep up on you, stress and cracks in our lives sometimes allow us to glimpse different times, gain reassurance or knowledge from different bowls if you like. The important thing is we are all part of that great soup, past, present, future, it simply does not matter. Live your life, son, no regrets, but do try every now and then to take a peek into an interesting crack or two!"
Whether your outlook sees just a strange dream or some spiritual message, that's your choice, your flavour of soup. I like to believe the vast cosmic soup pot is constantly being stirred.
So maybe time travel may or may not be possible, but whenever the subject is mentioned, I can't help smile, think of mum's soup, and know that it really doesn't matter.