Dearest Rachel -
You've heard it from me before, but as long as I can't get a definitive answer (from you or anyone else), I 'm going to keep asking it; how is it that time flows on your side of eternity? Paul talks about the day when we all will be raised, the dead first, and then the living thereafter (although presumably so quickly thereafter that it should hardly make a difference, in terms of our human perception). Does this mean that the oft-used metaphor of you being 'asleep' actually describes your current state fairly accurately? At the same time, though, Jesus told the thief on the cross that "today you will be with Me in Paradise," so how would that work? What passes for you between the moment of death here and your awareness of your presence in heaven? Does time even pass in eternity? Can it even be kept track of?
I ask all this because we're waking up to a two-part anomaly of time, as we perceive it on earth. Yesterday was the quadrennial leap day, February 29, but in the wee hours of the night (I'm not about to specify when, as I wasn't – and never could be – awake for the moment), we crossed yet another time zone, gaining another hour, but losing a day in the process. So, February 29th has essentially been followed by March 2nd, without really ever bothering with the 1st.
Personally, I would have thought it would have been more appropriate to skip over the 29th; we don't bother with it most years; what would be one more such time, after all? February 28th to March 1st, what's the big deal? It happens nearly every year that way. But I suppose we've been traveling mostly south, and not far enough (or fast enough) west to make that a thing. And I guess that would short those people for whom the day is particularly special (you know, birthdays and anniversaries – one of the couples on our deck actually had a plaque on their door about having "a love so strong the only need to celebrate it once every four years"; that's sweet and cute, I suppose), who get few enough chances to mark the occasion. So, those with such events on the 1st will just have to bear with it for their sakes – it's only likely to happen to them this one time.
Now, does this mean that I've finally broken by streak of letters to you, since there's this day that, as far as I perceive it, has gone completely missing? After all, if March 1st doesn't exist for me, can even I write you on that day?
Well, as far as the site these letters are hosted on is concerned, yes, I can. Even as I move from one time zone to the next, the site (and the laptop I'm writing most of these on) is still focused on Central Standard Time. From their perspective, it's March 1st, even if where I physically am would suggest otherwise. So I can send you a letter from the 2nd, and have it arrive on the 1st – even if that's just to the few people who continue to read these letters over your metaphorical shoulder.
But what time, what day, is it for you, I wonder? Time and days are based on the relative position of the sun as seen from earth; if you're not on the earth, how is it measured? Astronauts anchor their schedule to Greenwich Mean Time (give or take a few hours, of course, to line up with the nation they're reporting in to), but that's because they continue to remain connected to earth, and need to synchronize with it to a certain extent. You no longer have any such connection – and that's assuming you have a certain consciousness at this point beyond the veil at all. What if you're simply in a sort of metaphysical stasis, awaiting that trumpet blast that's supposed to call us all home at some classified point in the future? Does it even matter when these arrive in your inbox, then, especially since you wouldn't ever be expected to know about them, let alone ever get to reading them?
I wish I knew the answers to these questions, but I know, deep down, that none of it makes any difference in the end. As much as these are written to you, I know you'll never see – or even be aware of – them, and I'm slowly becoming okay with that. I mean, I rather have to be, as there's really nothing else that I can do about it. This is the way things are, and will be, for the rest of my days – whether I skip one now and again like this or not.
Anyway, I'm going to get on with this day, and see what there is for it – although as we continue at sea for a while yet, I can't really expect all that much. Still, keep an eye on me, honey and wish me luck. I'm sure I'm still going to need it.
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