ONCE UPON A TIME, A wise man I spoke to. "There's no problem; there's only time," said he. Little did I understand. Years passed, and soon I rephrased: A brush called time paints a canvas we call "space." Time intensifies the slate. "Space," and time: We need space to exist, to be, in a living paradigm. Time prevents everything to happen all the once. "Space," and time are the brush and canvas. In the realm we live, these two can't be apart. Otherwise, from our mind we can never depart.
This canvas, however, is far from objective: Painted on it, the thing may not make me feel as intensive, In a perspective. Sometimes, I allow time to paint that very canvas, intensely. Which makes me I experience time, problematically. The wise man was right, cleverly. Relative, time also is.
Einstein may or may not have said: "Waiting for a pretty girl for a minute, and it seems like an hour." "Talking to the same girl for one hour, It seems like, Just one minute." Time is relative, I soon realize: Pain lasts longer than pleasure, both in temporally and in size. Ruled by time, the canvas, and homogenized. One minute with pain feels like an eternity, While a year of pleasure is simply negligible. How unfair? We cry over a sudden spill of milk.
But we don't appreciate the presence, This very moment we're still living. What, then, should I do with time? In other words, All my problems, what should I do with? All is equal thus far: Pleasure and pain, Are on par. A problem is not just time, It needs time, To problematize. Give that problem more time, It disintegrates, de-intensify. Enjoy both pain and pleasure. As they come, And they go, Relatively speaking.:-) The End.
What I Know for Sure