franz on time

perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because w e think we have time, or have to reckon w time.. but what if we don’t have time? or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? – franz kafka

via tweet [https://x.com/Dostoevskyquot/status/1928705044100038705]:

Read it once. Felt it forever.

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time.. time\ing\ness.. et al

huge bit on time page (from krishnamurti’s freedom-from-known page):

60

Now we are asking, can we put a stop to time? Can we live so completely that there is no tomorrow for thought to think about? Because time is sorrow. That is, yesterday or a thousand yesterday’s ago, you loved, or you had a companion who has gone, and that memory remains and you are thinking about that
pleasure and that pain – you are looking back, wishing, hoping, regretting, so thought, going over it again and again, breeds this thing we call sorrow and gives continuity to time.

graeber unpredictability/surprise law et al.. on hold ness et al

So long as there is this interval of time which has been bred by thought, there must be sorrow, there must be continuity of fear.

Time is the interval between the observer and the observed. That is, the observer, you, is afraid to meet this thing called death. You don’t know what it means; you have all kinds of hopes and theories about it; you believe in reincarnation or resurrection, or in something called the soul, the atman, a spiritual entity which is timeless and which you call by different names.. To discover that nothing is permanent is of tremendous importance for only then is the mind free, then you can look, and in that there is great joy.

61

We have separated living from dying, and the interval between the living and the dying is fear. That interval, that time, is created by fear. Living is our daily torture, daily insult, sorrow and confusion, with occasional opening of a window over enchanted seas. That is what we call living, and we are afraid to die, which is to end this misery. We would rather cling to the known than face the unknown – the known being our house, our furniture, our family, our character, our work, our knowledge, our fame, our loneliness, our gods – that little thing that moves around incessantly within itself with its own limited pattern of embittered existence.

62

But death is extraordinarily like life when we know how to live. You cannot live without dying. You cannot live if you do not die psychologically every minute. This is not an intellectual paradox. To live completely, wholly, every day as if it were a new loveliness, there must be dying to everything of yesterday, otherwise you live mechanically, and a mechanical mind can never know what love is or what freedom is.