There is a place where time stands still.
Raindrops hang motionless in air. Pendulums
of clocks float mid-swing. Dogs raise
their muzzles in silent howls. Pedestrians
are frozen on the dusty streets, their legs
cocked as if held by strings. The aromas of
dates, mangoes, coriander, cumin are suspended
in space.
As a traveler approaches this place from
slowly. His heartbeats grow farther apart,
his breathing slackens, his temperature
his breathing slackens, his temperature
drops, his thoughts diminish, until he
reaches dead center and stops. For this is
the center of time. From this place, time
travels outward in concentric circles—at
rest at the center, slowly picking up speed
at greater diameters.
Who would make pilgrimage to the center
of time? Parents with children, and
lovers.
And so, at the place where time stands
still, one sees parents clutching their children,
in a frozen embrace that will never let
go. The beautiful young daughter with blue
eyes and blond hair will never stop smiling
the smile she smiles now, will never lose
this soft pink glow on her cheeks, will never
grow wrinkled or tired, will never get injured,
will never unlearn what her parents
have taught her, will never think thoughts
that her parents don't know, will never
know evil, will never tell her parents that
she does not love them, will never leave her
room with the view of the ocean, will never
stop touching her parents as she does now.
And at the place where time stands still,
one sees lovers kissing in the shadows of
buildings, in a frozen embrace that will
never let go. The loved one will never take
his arms from where they are now, will
never give back the bracelet of memories,
will never journey far from his lover, will
never place himself in danger in self-sacrifice,
will never fail to show his love, will
never become jealous, will never fall in love
with someone else, will never lose the passion
of this instant in time.
One must consider that these statues are
illuminated by only the most feeble red
light, for light is diminished almost to nothing
at the center of time, its vibrations
slowed to echoes in vast canyons, its intensity
reduced to the faint glow of fireflies.
Those not quite at dead center do indeed
move, but at the pace of glaciers. A brush
of the hair might take a year, a kiss might
take a thousand. While a smile is returned,
seasons pass in the outer world. While a
child is hugged, bridges rise. While a goodbye
is said, cities crumble and are forgotten.
And those who return to the outer world. . .
Children grow rapidly, forget the centuries-
long embrace from their parents,
which to them lasted but seconds. Children
become adults, live far from their parents,
live in their own houses, learn ways of their
own, suffer pain, grow old. Children curse
their parents for trying to hold them forever,
curse time for their own wrinkled skin and
hoarse voices. These now old children also
want to stop time, but at another time. They
want to freeze their own children at the center
of time.
Lovers who return find their friends are
long gone. After all, lifetimes have passed.
They move in a world they do not recognize.
Lovers who return still embrace in the shadows
of buildings, but now their embraces
seem empty and alone. Soon they forget the
centuries-long promises, which to them
lasted only seconds. They become jealous
even among strangers, say hateful things to
each other, lose passion, drift apart, grow
old and alone in a world they do not know.
Some say it is best not to go near the
center of time. Life is a vessel of sadness,
but it is noble to live life, and without time
there is no life. Others disagree. They
would rather have an eternity of contentment,
even if that eternity were fixed and
frozen, like a butterfly mounted in a case.
--- from Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman
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