We are birthed from time raised by it and killed by it; our one finite perpetual resource. It is the only thing we will never be able to manufacture, taste, hear, or smell. In essence it is our essence, this valuable commodity of time.
So underlying true we hold time above all else in our days; and in our nights we count the hours of anticipation, sweating the hour till discontent. Ah, so fascinating it all is. For of what purpose does an afterlife serve if not life? For life is time, and to be out of time to die; therefore, the “After-life” is a time of no time. Our largest commodity in life has no place in our self-imaginative resting place. I find that dreadfully peculiar.
-Kevin Giers
