Issues (with American Subtitles.)

Last night I heard a guru (considered somewhat eminent among western gurus) claim that ‘there is no such thing as past and future. There is only the ever-present now.’ This appeared to contradict one of my own favoured views and I thought about it all the way around my walk this morning. And eventually I realised my error. I was seeing the concept of ‘now’ as being effectively synonymous with ‘the present moment.’ And of course, it isn’t.

The term ‘moment’ implies a finite, divisible point fixed to a spot on the flow of time and is universally recognisable as such. The term ‘now’, however, is an abstract concept which moves constantly through time and is entirely personal to every fabric of phenomenal reality. ‘Ah, good,’ I thought. ‘I am not at odds with the eminent guru after all.’ I was content.

Ah, but then I remembered what a celebrated physicist (whose name I don’t recall) also said last night. He claimed that he had proved mathematically that reality – as we understand it – cannot be real. He gave no details of his mathematical reasoning and I’m certain I wouldn’t have understood a word of it anyway. Neither did he define 'reality.' But he did say that on an emotional level he found the fact difficult to accept, while being quite certain that his maths (or math if you happen to be colonial) were (or was) impeccable.

So then I began to think about that one (which is difficult if you don’t have the calculations to hand and wouldn’t understand them even if you did) and arrived at no conclusion. I arrived home instead and became more concerned about what to have for lunch and whether I’d have time to do a job in the garden which I regarded – falsely or otherwise – as rather pressing.

And talking of food, I had to have a makeshift meal consisting of a plate of chips (French fries…), a few plum tomatoes, and a pickled onion for my dinner tonight. I was going to make my fabled pea and potato soup until I realised that I’d forgotten to buy an onion in Sainsbury’s on Wednesday, and home-made soup just wouldn’t be the real deal without a base of fried onion. (I’ll get one from Tesco tomorrow.)

You see, this is what makes this vale of tears such a … vale of tears. It’s all an endless flow of questions and problems. One minute they concern the possibly illusory nature of time, reality, the universe and everything, and then it’s the sense of deflation and the need to seek alternatives because you forgot to buy an onion from the supermarket. I really do wonder sometimes whether it’s all worth it.

(But tomorrow I just might go into B&Q in Uttoxeter and say to a certain assistant something I wanted to say to her two weeks ago, but didn’t because I chickened out. I make no promises, mind. I can be a terrible wimp these days when it comes to offering unsolicited compliments to women who haven’t yet lived as long as I have. I start off feeling positive, but eventually sink into the self-perceived identity of a sad and ageing Lothario who has nothing better to do with his life. Come to think of it...)