Existential jetlag

There was something strange about today. Like the day wasn’t suppose to happen. A miscalculation of some sort. A time gap.

I woke up from a nightmare. I was being haunted by something and was trying to escape, but every alley I ran down brought me to a dead end and another closed, blue door. I was slowly panicking. To the sound of a gentle voice I retrieved reality. Or did I not?

A white mist curtain lay over the land today. Even with degrees below zero I couldn’t see the smoke of my own exhaled breath. It blended right in with the thick dim air and faded into nothingness.

As I walked on the mud-spattered pavement I felt like I was being sucked into a vacuum of whiteness. Everything was silent except for the occasional sound of a snowdrop or the death of an icicle. For a moment I stopped and looked at a tree, as if trying to find something to hold on to. I tried to imagine all the hustle and bustle that went on underneath the barque, but although I stared at it for a long time, all I saw was a stripped and lonesome tree that didn’t move an inch.

While walking in this indistinct painting I thought about time.

I have read that everything happens all at once. That time is vertical and all events are stacked right on top of each other. We experience these events from our different reference points. That is how we grasp reality.

We are moving around time, like pointers on a clock. Ironic, isn’t?

When I got home from my somewhat peculiar walk, I made myself a cup of hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream. I opened up an old travel magazine and the title of an article caught my eye:

Existential jetlag.

Makes so much sense…