I don’t often write stream of consciousness stuff these days, it is, after all, supremely self-indulgent, but today, as Father Time departs and the breath of the New Year, a bright, fair child rising like a phoenix, I think I’m allowed.
A few concatenations caught my attention in recent times. It began with a conversation in Athens a few days ago. A trampoline is a metaphor for spacetime, the universal balloon that expands and is so very old. When uninhabited, a basketball moves in a straight line when rolled from one diagonal to another. I then imagined myself, standing on the middle cross, and asked my companion ‘ how would the ball have to be rolled to get to the other side?’ He replied, quite correctly, that the ball would be pulled toward me, and it would follow a curved path to reach the other side. Time crawls, lengths are squeezed…
Stephen Hawking and Roger Penrose did the mathematics for black holes – as if I weighed so much that the trampoline bed extended deep into the earth and the basketball never ever made it to the other side, instead just disappearing, contracting into a microdot….Or so we might suppose, the wormhole narrative is exotically believable, if fanciful.
All this grew from a movie – randomly watched – even the title escapes me – about what might happen if time horizons could be changed, lives rewritten, game-changing events solidify into new realities and we could, conceivably go back, change the trajectory, rewrite history….
How things might have turned out – Hosea’s door of hope, the valley of Achor, Makor Ha-Tikvah…What is strange about such thoughts is the idea that the possibility of better outweighs the probability of worse. Perhaps our own parabola of destiny is, after all, for the best.