On Time What is it that generates time, or what is it that time generates?

Time, the only tool of perception, the only reality possible, or the only possibility graspable, the only yardstick available, falls prey to critique from time to time, in the hands of us, the mortals, who define it, and get defined by it. I hereby take the task of wrestling with it once more. Every mind who wanted to think, thought about time, every now and then. What concerned the Greeks was the interplay between this time, being the image of eternity, and the eternity itself. Then came the whistleblower from Kongsberg, Mr. Emmanuel Kant, who questions the objectivity of this time with his Critiques and awarded it the status of not so objectively defined, outward-lying-definer, but the very essence of any perception ever possible at any level of cognition, thereby, giving it the status of an innate idea. World yet again saw another perspective given by Heidegger who talked about the extreme subjectivity of time. He hereby contradicted with any of the former perspectives and turned the sand clock upside down, and tried to show us another side of time. He talked about the finitude of this limitless entity, the meaning it derives not from the eternity as such, but from the very death we are all born with since day one. He uses death as the point of departure and explains how this time rises from death and travels towards death, thereby puts us, the mortals, as the definer of every single event, not the eternity as such. My idea here is not to judge who talked about it justly and who did not. I hereby want to show yet another link we form with time. How much time do you need, I do not have time for this, I wish I had some more time, you need to manage your time, are the expressions we use in our daily life. The very essence of being is time, no doubt about that. But what is time? A ringing clock, a rising sun, a moving star, or a running breathes, what is it? Imagine how deeply we own this very entity we dont meet at all at any stage of our life. We own time, attach with it, think of it as living. Time is good, bad, great, wrong, worst, amazing, are all those subjective attributes we associate with this only objectivity ever happened to us. Whatever is sensed or perceived, lies in the web constructed by time and around time. The only source of all possibility, of all empiricity, of all physicality, is meta-physical. How? Lets see. I ask which one of the five senses ever correspond with this very reality called time. Time cannot be seen like tree, yet the sight of tree is only possible in that moment when my eye is opening up in right brightness of light at one particular moment of this entity called time. Can I hear time? One has to enquire a bit. I cannot hear it putting any wavelengths on my ear drum, but here again, no voice can make my ear drum vibrate if it is not accompanied by one specific moment in which wavelengths decide to come together to travel around me, and so goes the story for other senses. So, what would empiricist do when I tell him the only possibility of his physicality is metaphysical, the only reality of his sensibility is beyond all senses. Hence, one has to

revisit the possibility or impossibility of meta-physics yet again. Lets see what I can do with time. Personalization of time and considering it ones sole property is at the core of human cognition. I own it, play with it, and emotionalize it with my intricate set of emotions. When I say time is nothing but an illusion, this very moment is capturing and recording my narrative, thereby rendering it out of the hands of illusion for good. At the death bed, I yearn for it, cry for it. I wish I had more time, but how can I say it without presuming that I had it in the first place. This is the kind of attachment one need to explore around. Lets introduce another player into the scene, another actor on the stage, society. I cannot turn the clock back for you, the statement we are so used to listen or utter so oftenly, is misleading. I surel can turn it back for anyone, what I cannot turn back is the social adherence to that hand of clock clicking continuously over my head. What happens when people in various parts of the world decide to change their clocks back and forth whenever they agree on? They surely do turn their clocks but to yet another socially agreed upon definition of time. It seems like time is rightly the sole definer of being, but yet very much defined by the people it is defining in its flow. Another shade of perception is the fact that the very machine, the very agent of change, the clock, never changes at all. Our perception once built about those numbers never experience any change at all. And here comes the big question, which generates what? Is it numbers that give birth to time, or the time that generated these numbers, who knows? We the humans, the mortals, the dwellers of this well of time and space, always wish to transcend this very existence we are given birth in. Examine what we do to them who are brightest among us, greater among us. We divorce them out of very existence we all live in so happily. Our highest forms of appreciation are not temporal but non-temporal, non-mortal. We want to call them immortal, beyond time and space, limitless, etc.,. This is how we associate with time. If I claim time is nothing, this very statement affirms the existence of time. What I am saying is time is bending on the other side of the see saw we are dwindling on as time is nothing. It means time is there but on the other side of being. It verily verifies the existence in the first place. So, what time really is, is still an enigma. Whether an image of eternity, or condition of cognition, or total subjective realization of our finitude; let philosophers sort it out among them. What we can see is the subjectivity of this objective reality lying around us. What we can sense is the non-sensibility of this beyond senses entity, yet the definer and perception maker of all senses endowed to us. What I find great about time is Heraclitus statement. What is under my feet is the river, but not the river that passed me a moment ago. It surely is a river, in which we all are standing, yet unable to stand, or unable to experience, the same river twice.

Time!, we know we do not know enough to know about you, yet our struggle to know you will keep going with you, and will produce newer answers every now and then.