Michael Scott Hand

Category: Philosophy

• Human Time

  Posted at 9:01 am by Michael, on October 25, 2021

  How is it the year 2021?

  With each moment that passes–each infinitesimal fraction of a second–time, human time, recorded time, slides effortlessly along on greased rails.

  There is nothing that can stop human time. There is no pause button. There is no rewind. There is only the surety, baked into the bread that time keeps going; days keep coming, days keep falling.

  One might grow afraid that the sun might not rise tomorrow, or all the water instantly evaporates, or somebody will start a fire that consumes the entire earth.

  But we do not question time for it is so much bigger than us. We are the lumpy road and time is the steamroller that flattens us all into history. And that history becomes pages, like in a book. Inexact descriptions about the way things were; the way things will never be again.

  Were time to stop would we be frozen in place, like mannequins? Would it be a localised time-stopping event? Would the earth continue to spin or would it halt, suddenly on its axis? Pause the Earth’s rotation and tidal waves would destroy entire nations. Or would the water simply freeze as well? Would the oceans turn to ice?

  This is what I mean by human time. It is an idea so essential to us that we do not think about it. Or at least we try. It can be depressing–this idea of time as a steamroller that first flattens and then distances all things that occur to us on this scale. Memories linger, but become wobbly in the haze of the horizon.

  Looking back we see all human knowledge, all memories and events, all things global and personal and big and small get flattened into that same stuff. That endless road that we know as history. It is gone now, it is past now. It is fading.

  And if we continue to look back–I mean, if that’s all we do–we can become transfixed by this: for the past is a long, flat road that lead us here. And perhaps, if we could follow it back we might be able to answer some important questions: how did I get like this? How did we get like this?

  For where does that long, straight road begin? With your own mewling birth? With the birth of your parents? With the birth of a Neanderthal? With the birth of a fish?

  Is this the only road of time or are there many? Is there, perhaps, some great manufacturing facility at the beginning of all time that set forth dozens of steamrollers in dozens of different directions and the timeline we occupy is but one?

  Such is the way one can be drawn into the past. It is not without its fascinations. Beyond that hazy horizon of memory lie truths we will probably never understand; both personal and profound.

  But perhaps looking backwards is not always the answer. What if we turn that longing, nostalgic gaze in the opposite direction… towards the road yet to be travelled: towards the future?

  There it is we find the greatest uncertainty–and yes, perhaps fear. But there is also a different type of excitement to be found in the horizon that approaches, the horizon that does not grow ever more distant with the passing of time but, in fact, draws closer.

  We know the past–not perfectly and not all of it–but we remember. We have records. We have books and lists and striations in rock that tell us things about where we have been. But we do not yet have a road-map for where we are going.

  There a great many mystical, magical things on the approaching horizon; a great many wonderful things.

  Look forward.

  This post was originally published as “25102021“.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• The Overview Effect

  Posted at 8:53 am by Michael, on October 18, 2021

  It’s powerful to think that seeing the world from above necessitates some fundamental change in the psyche of those who see it.

  They call it the Overview Effect and many astronauts speak of it: the sudden realisation that this vulnerable, sunlit blue sphere hanging in the void is of unique and supreme importance.

  In this moment of overwhelming clarity all war seems pointless and the importance of protecting the natural world becomes self-evident.

  (These are realisations, by the way, that are possible to reach without a journey into low-Earth orbit)

  Visiting “space” is also said to have appreciable positive impacts on mental health. Not unlike the use of hallucinogens to activate a “higher state of consciousness”, floating–very literally–in a “higher state” above the Earth has been reported to produce a pronounced reduction in the symptoms of stress, anxiety and depression.

  And yet, as passenger crafts begin to shoot up through the atmosphere and allow more and more people this unique experience–this unique view–I do not feel the hope this is supposed to engender.

  For as the earth becomes a glinting jewel in the light of the sun; and as that light is reflected in the heart of the onlooker (who is good), I fear the void that surrounds our planet is likewise mirrored in the hearts of humanity.

  In that void, pure nihilism, a nothingness that reaches to infinity. An emptiness of rocks. A different sort of clarity.

  And the Earth itself, suspended against that backdrop of black velvet, becomes the only thing of value–the only thing left to “be attained”.

  The gem is not without its flaws, but look at the way it shimmers. It is the only one in existence, the only one ever found. And it is for all of us. It is all of us. It is mother and father and everything we cling to.

  All memories, all histories, all creatures and creations, all blessings and curses and victories and mysteries, all comes from this sphere, this singular, spinning gemstone.

  What a treasure to behold. To witness. To comprehend these ideas–even in part–is in essence what the Overview Effect is about.

  And it belongs to all of us.

  This post was originally published as “18102021“.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• The Old Man and the Standing Stone

  Posted at 8:50 am by Michael, on October 15, 2021

  There is a single standing stone near the pond where the old man goes to fish.

  The stone stands straight and still. It has collected moss in the indentations that the sun does not reach.

  Who brought it here and how and why? These questions once preoccupied the old man; but now he wanders instead of wonders.

  Up and down these gold-green hills he walks each day to the pond and casts his line into the placid water.

  The water takes on the appearance of the sky and the hills, like a mirror into a painting that ripples gently. And when the fishing line disturbs the water it is like the flourish of a paintbrush.

  The old man was someone else once; perhaps the stone was something else too.

  And the fish too, with their rainbow-coloured scales.

  The fish do not bite often and when they do the old man throws them back. When he does so, the reflected sky is disturbed for a moment—but only for a moment.

  As the sun rolls down the hills, grass once green is turned to gold and the shadows of the old man and the standing stone grow longer.

  The old man was someone else once, but he does not remember who. This thought does not disturb him, for now he wanders instead of wonders.

  The standing stone does neither.

  Posted in Philosophy, Stories | 0 Comments

• Chase It

  Posted at 10:20 am by Michael, on September 27, 2021

  Chase it.

  Beneath the waves, a flash of white. Beneath the rails a disturbance in the dirt. Beneath your feet; between the cracks. Step where you may, but do not worry where you step. Do not walk: run.

  Chase it.

  Your quarry is always just ahead. Around the corner, around the corner. Seemingly out of reach, but always leaving a whisper of itself behind, a promise of what you cannot have. But you can.

  Chase it.

  Your philosophy eludes you. That meaning in your life that you have cobbled together from so many breaks and repairs. That faith like a threadbare blanket that keeps you “warm enough”. But the chill pervades, like icy fingers on your spine and this feeling is not fear but excitement; it is the promise that your prey represents. It is the answer you are seeking.

  CHASE IT.

  Do not give up. You are so close now. You have always been so close.

  Your prey, your philosophy, your answer may still evade you. It always slips away, just out of reach.

  Just out of reach. And you will run, or you will sail, or you will ride the rails and you will strain; you will strain.

  Your muscles will hurt and your eyes will grow dry and your eyes will grow wet. And the burning in your muscles will become too much and you’ll be sure you can’t run any more that you can’t lift your legs, and you’ll convince yourself that there’s no point, that your prey will always elude you; that you will never catch your philosophy.

  And maybe you won’t; but that’s not the point. The important bit is to keep running, keep striving, keep seeking, keep trying. The important part is to…

  Chase it.

  This post was originally published as “27092021”.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• Tides

  Posted at 9:10 am by Michael, on September 20, 2021

  The tide raises us like boats and we are held up by the surface of the water, buoyed up beneath the majesty of the night sky and all its lights.

  There, the boats are above everything and the moonlight shimmers on their sails. And the water shows the reflection of the endless darkness and turns it to light that sweeps and shimmers across the waves.

  And the moon and the stars loom so large and so close and the waves roll away to the star-lit horizon such that we might imagine that we could ride them away into the sky.

  This is the ocean and the night and the tide that raises us. This is the moon and the stars that light our way. This is the swelling of the ocean before it ebbs away.

  Sunlight dawns on weary sails, no longer shining in the moonlight. Boats shift and rock upon the morning water, no longer raised up against the sky.

  A gull caws and a rope is thrown. A mop slides across the deck. An anchor is hauled and the wind whips through the sails, filling them with hope.

  The sky is blue and filled with wispy clouds that drift like fleeting memories. The captain stands at the bow and watches the sun rise.

  The sunlight spreads across the water.

  This post was originally published as “20092021“.

  Posted in Philosophy, Stories | 0 Comments

• Broken and Beautiful

  Posted at 7:33 am by Michael, on September 13, 2021

  I… sometimes struggle to find the words, to describe the struggle that resides within me. I push back with my psyche against the darkness and a light radiates from somewhere within that is not like any other light.

  And in the light we see the cracks and scars that mark us (scars both literal and more ambiguous), we see the lines of worry around our eyes; lines that mark our love.

  For if you have loved you have worried and if you have been afraid than you have hoped. And so that light that shines and betrays us to the world as broken, rebuilt, worried, afraid, hopeful also shows us to be beautiful.

  Far more precious than ancient antiques, paint flaked and faded, chipped porcelain; we are living, breathing legacies of everything and everyone we’ve loved and our humanity, our fragility, those same feelings that make us ache are those same feelings that make us alive.

  So bear your scars with pride and lift your chin. You do not need to hide the lines around your eyes or the pain within them. Embrace the wholeness of that which makes you feel weak, for that which we mistake as weakness is merely bravery and weariness. And accept that you can be–in fact, that you are–both broken and beautiful.

  This post was originally published as “13092021“.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• The Needle that Sows

  Posted at 9:05 am by Michael, on September 6, 2021

  The thread passes through the head of the needle and then the needle passes through the weave of the thread; this is what it is to sew.

  The tiller is dragged through the soil and then the seeds are scattered across the field; this is what it is to sow.

  The writer threads words into sentences and plants the seeds of ideas–and so, both sews and sows.

  This post was originally published as “06092021“.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• Blue Skies

  Posted at 9:00 am by Michael, on September 1, 2021

  The weather is full of unfulfilled promises.

  Would that bad things only happened when the weather is stark and grey and dreary. Would that every heartbreak be acknowledged by the sudden downpouring of rain. Would that every agony of mankind be reflected by the weather, such that the sky became forever turgid with the endless suffering of humanity.

  Nothing is as depressing to me as a sunny day and a blue sky.

  We are supposed to relish the sunlight. When flowers bloom and seedlings pop their ignorant heads above the soil. Sunny days are here again, they say, and people drink and dance. This is the world—so warm and shining and brilliant. This is happiness: a child sitting with a melting ice-cream in a cone, a dog cheerfully bounding across a sea of grass with a stick in its mouth.

  But tragedy is not afraid of the sun, or the flowers, or the misbegotten optimism of the sun-worshippers in their temples. Tragedy occurs no matter the weather.

  The weather is unflinching. It does not care. The bumblebee picks at the heart of a flower, gathering pollen. A child sits, crying, with a melting ice-cream in a cone; a stick remains in the grass because there is no dog to fetch it.

  These are the unspoken agonies of every sunny day. This is a funeral procession without dark clouds to accompany it. This is the horrible, horrendous blue sky.

  For me, that vast blue nothing does not conjure hope, or calm, or peace. Rather it is a vast, unbounded horror. And the sun on the leaves. And the sun on the cement. And the smells in the air.

  Ah, such beautiful tapestry does the sun weave. And yet the soldiers still march. Bombs still explode. And in a room somewhere that the light does not reach a hand touches another hand—leathery now, close to death now, and another life slips away.

  And it is sunny outside. And people are cheerful and rambunctious. And they raise toasts to the idiot glorification of a sun that persists even when it is cloudy, an ever-explosion of nuclear light in the sky that blinds our eyes and brands our skin.

  I hate it. Let the sky pour with the rain of our tears. Let the heavens lament all that we have lost. Let the ground rumble with the articulation of our collective rage.

  In the cold and the wet and the grey.

  In the pounding of the rain and the cold bite of the wind.

  There, I find solace.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• The Man and the Mountain

  Posted at 9:09 am by Michael, on August 30, 2021

  The man stands before the mountain that mocked the boy.

  The mountain has not changed–but the boy has.

  There’s grey in his hair now; like the cold, far-off glinting of stars.

  There is a certain weariness about the way he stands.

  There is a certain determination in his dark eyes.

  The boy once stood in this imaginary place.

  This no-place except a place to see a mountain.

  And the mountain mocked the boy. And the mountain said:

  “Can you climb the mountain?”

  As though a mountain could talk.

  In the years that have passed the boy/man has not moved an inch.

  He stands in the same spot, he looks at the same mountain.

  But it is different now: the mountain no longer mocks him.

  In his youth the mountain brought him here.

  Now the man brings the mountain to him.

  The mountain is imaginary–he does not need to climb it.

  If he wishes, he may make himself taller than the mountain and merely step over it.

  And so the mountain does not ask:

  “Can you climb the mountain?”

  The boy has outgrown the question.

  This post was originally published as “30082021”.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

• No Such Thing as Still Water

  Posted at 9:02 am by Michael, on August 23, 2021

  I do not try to catch my ideas, or else I find they slip through my fingers.

  Like running water–like a wild stream–coursing downwards between the rocks. Churning and turning, leaves bob and tumble along the foaming surface and sand swirls beneath them.

  These are my ideas: this wild stream, this ever-coursing. The movement of the water is chaotic, we cannot predict where each particle ends up and as the stream weaves back and forth between the rocks and the shore, as it bounces and bubbles and foams, it splits up and reforms, splits up and reforms, splits up and reforms.

  One thousand times a second. Who knows, maybe more. The water mingles and mixes and so do my ideas run across and through one another, both the same ideas–the same stream–and different, ever-changing and ever-changed by their passage through this analogy.

  Analogy, no less an allegory, no less a speaking of things hidden from view yet visible to the watcher of the stream who perceives his thoughts rushing downwards, ever-changing, ever-chaotic. And the He that is Me knows it is impossible to collect these ideas, even in a bucket.

  For the water outside of the stream is nothing like the water within. The water outside is stagnant and separate. It contains, perhaps, a hint of the source, but nothing like the memory of being one with the stream. And so the idea, like the water, must be poured back.

  I do not try to catch my ideas, I merely watch them and am aware of them and am aware of the sensation of gravity and momentum that propels them and me forward, down, weaving complex patterns between the rocks. I do not try to catch my ideas and pour them into glasses and say: look what I have imagined, taste the water of my dreams.

  I merely watch the stream and am aware of it and, in turn, from that swirling, ever-downwards chaos, describe the thought-forms I see reflected on the surface. Is that the sun that shines through the trees or the illumination of my intellect?

  There is no such thing as still water.

  This post was originally published as “23082021“.

  Posted in Philosophy | 0 Comments

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