Category Archives: TIME

The fact is, squire, the moment a man takes to a pipe, he becomes a philosopher. It’s the poor man’s friend; it calms the mind, soothes the temper, and makes a man patient under difficulties. It has made more good men, good husbands, kind masters, indulgent fathers, than any other blessed thing on this universal earth. Sam Slick, the clockmaker”

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When you pray with this pipe, you pray for everything in the universe, and everything in the universe prays with you.”

-Black Elk, Holy Man of the Oglalas

Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”  ― Mark Twain


Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of toast and tea

T.S. Eliot

Sometimes in life the simplest question becomes the most difficult to answer. Hindi.


English Translation of Sanskrit Quote:

Night will be over, there will be morning,
The sun will rise, lotus flower will open.
While the bee inside the lotus flower was thinking thus,
The lotus plant was uprooted by an elephant.

However bad at pricing a butcher may be, he won’t price an elephant at 700 cowries. Hausa.



Reaching down arm-deep into bright water
I gathered on white sand under waves
Shells, drifted up on beaches where I alone
Inhabit a finite world of years and days.
I reached my arm down a myriad years
To gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor,
Held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation.

Building their beauty in three dimensions
Over which the world recedes away from us,
And in the fourth, that takes away ourselves
From moment to moment and from year to year
From first to last they remain in their continuous present.
The helix revolves like a timeless thought,
Instantaneous from apex to rim
Like a dance whose figure is limpet or murex,
cowrie or golden winkle.

They sleep on the ocean floor like humming-tops
Whose music is the mother-of-pearl octave of the rainbow,
Harmonious shells that whisper forever in our ears,
The world that you inhabit has not yet been created.

Kathleen Raine

Maireann lá go ruaig ach maireann an grá go huaigh. A day lasts until it’s chased away but love lasts until the grave.


Way-lah bprà-dĭo-dio phráw man mák-jà thòok lâi dtahm sà-mĕu.

Time for-short-time because it often has-been chased always.

Time is fleeting because it’s always being chased.

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foto – snug cove in eden nsw 2013

Sometimes I am the hands of a clock Going round and round Day in – day out . Claire Stephenson.

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“I know this much: that there is objective time, but also subjective time, the kind you wear on the inside of your wrist, next to where the pulse lies. And this personal time, which is the true time, is measured in your relationship to memory.” 

― Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

A clock will run without watching it.


No Clock

Light carries between floorboards,

I follow it; trace a line back to my eyes

And the creases beneath them.

This building has no plaque

And shows up everywhere-

Once I found her by the harbour

And had to lead her away

Before the salt rusted her window frames.

If I close my eyes she is only noises,

My ears and she is only smells.

The children she played hide-and-seek with

Are in their sixties now.

I am poised and waiting;

She has no bell whose rope to pull

And no clock to time my exit.

Her lesson will begin soon,

I was here when she took the breath.

I can feel dust settle on the hairs of my arms.

Any second now-

I turned away with a fixed intent And headed for Hawthorndell: I could neither eat in the splitters’ tent Nor drink at the splitters’ well.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

1833 – 1870



foto tent in raleigh nsw australia 2013

Primeval forests! virgin sod! That Saxon has not ravish’d yet, Lo! peak on peak in stairways set— In stepping stairs that reach to God! Here we are free as sea or wind, For here are set Time’s snowy tents.

In an ant colony dew is a flood.





“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. 
I am haunted by waters.” 

― Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories