PINE NUTS – Time Travel 2025
May 9, 2025 | McAvoy Lane
When space and time interface it’s a wonder to behold. I call it spatial temporal interfacing. Tangible time, time that is perceptible to the senses, is a spectacle. This perception came to me twenty-six years ago while overlooking the Lake of the Sky from the vantage point of Rifle Peak on a crystal-clear Tahoe day when I could survey almost the entire circumference of the lake.
I fixed my focus on the distant shore and imagined I was attached by a string to the center of the Earth and could spin around the globe faster and faster until I was propelled ahead of real time. It was only for a few seconds, twenty maybe, but that was enough to cause me to tremble like a leaf on a Quaking Aspen. I then had to gather myself before taking a few unsteady steps through a heavy gravitational wave before resuming my daily run.
Fast forwarding twenty-six years, it happened again last night while I was portraying Mark Twain. For a few seconds, twenty perhaps, I was consumed by a surge of emotion that told me I was still portraying Mark Twain, but I was no longer me. And whoever I was, I was no longer in the Pacific Time Zone…
I considered sitting down and requesting a timeout to gather myself, but forged on with the flow of the story, and was able to muddle through without a second spell. Today, however, I was still on borrowed time so to speak, and probably a second or so ahead of yesterday’s real time, when a lady tried to mow me down in a crosswalk, or at least that’s how I perceived it at the time.
Actually she didn’t see me, but I saw her, and saw what was about to happen if I did not turn myself into Bob Beamon and leap out of harm’s way, which I did. You could not have slipped an ace of spades between my behind and her bumper as she passed me by, which in terms of time might have amounted to a mere second. In other words, had I not experienced my little time-travel episode of the day before, well, I might be pushing up turnips today where the soil needs enriching.
Not unlike Cicadas, we two-legged animals have internal clocks ticking away in our breasts. How many times have we set an alarm only to awaken one minute before it goes off? Our internal clocks are ticking like that stopwatch on 60 Minutes, synchronized by the orchestral interconnections of all living things within the harmony of the universe.
It might be safe to say that my internal clock skipped ahead a beat, and might have saved me by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin. Should you be considering resetting your internal clock, may I humbly recommend Rifle Peak overlooking the Lake of the Sky for your synchronization. And I look forward to seeing you, in the distant future…