Of course Einstein famously re-defined time for our modern era, or, as I prefer to call it -- redefining it myself -- the era of ephemera
. (We currently live in a time where the idea of the time we live in is more important than it ever was, as far as we know.) And of course any effort to disprove that theory only reinforces it, so you won’t win this argument, Dr. Toppler (our debate team coach -- she’s fantastic, but loves to argue with me when I have other things to do!) but that’s a topic for another day.
What I really mean to discuss is the elasticity of time -- a well-worn subject, I suppose, but pertinent to me today because I have been invited to big Symposium coming up in June and it will almost certainly have a fairly significant effect on my professional status in certain circles. The Symposium in question (I can’t disclose until they officially put out their list of participants and presenters) is cutting-edge, and although credentials and impressive grants and other outward signs of my high achievement mean little or nothing to me, personally, the benefit they bring to my potential students is large, since they might otherwise not know about me or trust my unique instruction without the societal “signals” that I’m a significant figure in the world of alternative educational theory and practice.
I want this extra boost in my, and therefore the Institute’s, ability to attract and help students. So I’m already planning and thinking a lot about my workshop presentation that won’t happen for months. Which leaves me strangely focused on the future, which pulls me out of the time I’m actually in. But I don’t totally leave “now” when I go “there” (the June Symposium) -- I have part of me still “here,” obviously, which means I’m taking the fabric of time (from my perspective) and stretching it like a rubber band. Pulling “here” over to meet the imagined future in June and mingling the two times together in my thoughts and therefore in myself.
I become a location where the here and now and the maybe there and then are mixed together and where they can rub off on each other. I actually “tug” time toward the thing that I’m thinking about. Does this make time “go faster” toward what I’m yearning for? Not really. Or does it? Or does it make time go more slowly toward the maybe there and then that I keep stretching it toward? (Think what happens to a rubber band that gets stretched a lot -- it gets looser!) And of course it has to cover less distance each time, since of course I’m “closer” to that particular future each moment.
What are the practical implications of this line of thinking? Putting grooves in the universe, in the form of time lines and bending and stretching bands of time-fabric -- can this be real? As surely as a thought excites electric action in the brain, action which of course consists of energy, which can’t go backward in time, so it’s got to “aim” somewhere. Are you sure you want to be in charge of aiming that gun? If you are to be in charge of it, wouldn’t you like a little training as to how you might use it and where you might aim?
Of course. Institute training!