Photo by Aleksandra Denic

Bergson was the first who managed to understand the essence of time. He threw away watches and claimed that duration is the only way of approaching knowledge of the absolute and real life. Through duration determinism becomes an impossibility and freewill mobility.

Proust was searching for lost time. In the moments of nibbling a Madeleine cake he discovered a place which exists beyond our presence and is not subject to the world where one can measure time by minutes, seconds or years. With the Madeleine he recalled memories and drowned them into the timelessness of existence. In the place beyond sorrow, matter, death.


*                    *                 *


They had already been living on the island for a long time. Maybe too long. Its magic can easily become a curse. Its beauty can all too easily melt into chains wrapped around our bodies and minds. Its doom can inflict the deepest wounds, ones that can hurt even our souls.

It was only a question of time when one of them would start talking about it. Whether it was her or him didn’t matter, and didn’t make any difference. The choice was up to the higher powers to decide; humidity in the air of a particular day, serendipities that rule our lives without informing us.


– I want to leave. It’s time for me to get on with my life.

A firm voice, steel eyes.

– And what will happen to us?

He looks scared, not sure where this is leading to.

– I didn’t say I want to leave you, I just want to leave this damned island. There are no changes in our lives in any way. It’s because of this place. To live on the Island of the Gods is more a curse than a blessing. I can see it now. That which doesn’t change has no value or significance. I am becoming a thing here. I am losing purpose, personality. I am losing everything I came here for in the first place.

– You are exaggerating. Do you really think change is the most important essence of reality? Is it not true that constant change is more of an escape from it?

– New experiences are not an escape. They are food for our brain, a possibility to expand our minds, new ways of seeing the world. Without new events this cannot happen. So aren’t they something that should be most important? To live this world, to live for something. I believe we should be going forward. I don’t like to stay in one place, or circle around within. That’s me, that’s the way of our culture. There is no possibility to escape from it.

– Maybe you are right.

He paused, and than continued.

– But I have a question. Where do we find our inner peace if our lives mean nothing more but a constant race against time in the search for change? Shouldn’t peace be the most important? Isn’t that why we came here in the first place?

She was looking for a counter argument. Then she wanted to continue and say how peace is just a word, nothing more profound than any other human word. But the sentence never left her lips.

He was continuing in a steady voice.

– Repetition on the line of time is not better or worse than walking forward. It is so imaginary that it cannot even exist in the real world. Do you really think when you repeat certain actions it means just as little as making another copy? Did you ever have exactly the same thoughts in your head twice? Do you think when we make love it is nothing more than a well-known routine? Or do the small changes we put into our performance make everything new and fresh? Maybe even so much that it means the difference between living and not living? These small differences are the spice of our lives. The reason why we live, our choice, our freedom. In them I can find peace.


*                    *                 *


He was talking sincerely. Or at least she thought so. She was peaceful now, peace is the most important. The wind blows offshore, the beach covered in sand. She sits bowed on a soft chair. Is she still young or already old?

A scent of the ocean surrounds her dreamy figure. The wind becomes stronger, blowing away previous scents and bringing something totally unexpected. It enters through her nose slowly. She can smell garlic followed by well known spices burning on a fire. Is it really what she thinks it is? Her body is now steady, filled with concentration. Neurons firing thoughts, looking for known templates. They are sending reports to the central processor. There is no reason for confusion or dilemma, the template has been found. From the shores of the island comes the smell of a barbeque the way they make it in her old home town. The best barbeque in the world. Juicy meat, spicy paprika, sour cream, all mixed together on a bed of the softest bread. Repressed emotions burst out, erupting; they pick her up and lift her high into the air. From there she can fly away towards her own never-never land. A place that she has been craving to find for such a long time.