Time is Relative

Bret was in the middle of a training class, teaching the art of subtle existence. Temporal agents need to be invisible in plain sight, so how is that accomplished?

Bret said, “Class Epsilon 9: Time and reality are illusions. What you perceive as the passage of time is nothing more than the organization of events in your mind. Consider this!”

He took a step backward, and he appeared directly in front of himself. His new visitor handed him a cup of coffee and turned to the class. Offering a small salute, he vanished, leaving behind the coffee, the class, and a light pop as the air rushed in to fill the void where he had just stood.

“If time was as you believed for most of your life and was locked in place from one moment to the next, this, my future self appearing and providing me with the most perfect cup of coffee in the universe, could not be possible. How about the fact we are here learning and experiencing portions of the job description in this specific place.” He looked at the class, “Miss Kimber, where are we?”

“Well, Mr. B, according to the class field activity, we are currently in Pangea. Approximately 250 million BC, according to our calendar.”

“A calendar that, at this moment in time, does not exist as of yet?”

Inwardly, Bret grinned. He loved this portion of the class. Making them think, boggling their understanding of the known, and watching their journey to the known.

“If we changed something in this time, what effect could it possibly have on the future of humanity?”

“Well,” A young man, Robert Faxxor, said with barely enough confidence to believe he spoke out loud.

“Robert, please continue.”

“Well, if all of time is a connected circle, the current time is the point at which we exist in that circle at that specific moment. If our position changes, then so does time.”

“Interesting idea. I like it. But, one question. If time is a circle, as you state, then on your circle, I jump to a point where your great-great-grandparents meet and stop them from ever meeting. They never marry or have children, so you are never born. So, I ask again, if we change something in this time, what effect could it possibly have on the future of humanity?”

The class was silent. Bret stood and walked around the class. They sat at a campfire. A beautiful campfire in the middle of a desert. He needed to push them through the idea that time was a line with branches.

“OK, is time a line like the branch of a tree, or is it a circle like Robert suggests? Is it more of a book, and changing time is nothing more than changing or turning pages?” The discussion continued for over an hour, but a definitive answer was not stated. More theories and possibilities arose, and Bret started getting hungry.

A large container appeared behind him as he stood and addressed the class. Everyone noticed the box, but Bret did not acknowledge it had arrived, “OK. Mr. Circle of Time, what is the exact time at this specific moment on your great circle?”

“18:23:43.”

“So, this container appeared at 18:23:05, correct?”

“I would agree with that. Yes, sir, Mr. B.”

“Great. Write the time on the top of a piece of paper and take an order for dinner. I want to know the favorite meal of every class member.”

Robert put a name and meal on the sheet, a dozen of them, and handed them to his professor. Bret looked it over and smiled, “This is perfect. I believe my favorite meal would be the Ramona meat dish, Bob and Martha’s sides, and Robert’s beverage,” He paused momentarily, “Who’s hungry?”

A dozen hands raised. Bret opened the box and picked up one of the smaller containers stored within, “Ramona?” He said, and she came up and picked up her box. Each box was hot and had a name handwritten on the top. Bret saw only two boxes remaining: his box with his meal and, “Robert. Your dinner awaits.”

Robert walked up and accepted his dinner. He stared blankly at the lid, his name, his handwriting.

“I never wrote my name on a boxed meal!”

“Not yet, but you will.”

“What?” You could see the confusion on his face.

“Start eating, and I will try to explain. I did not send us food or arrange for this food to be here. After this conversation, Robert arranged these meals for this evening. But not now; it’s actually a few weeks from now. That Circle of Time he mentions is dynamic. For example, I have a favorite coffee cup. It is thermal, it is unbreakable, and it is just my favorite, but I want to share it with all of you so you will have something of this time, this moment, this conversation to bring and carry with you as you journey into your known, on that Circle of Time. Marcel, what time is it?”

“19:22:00.”

A table appeared behind them, and coffee cups were on it. The exact cup he was holding in his hand. In front of each cup was a name on a small card. One member of the class, one cup. He drained the remainder from the cup in his hand and pulled out a marker, writing on it that time – the time Marcel had just told him.

The class members found their cards and sipped their coffee. It was perfect. Each cup was precisely the way they wanted it made. Bret sat at his cup, and his card said, “Since you just emptied yours, here’s a fresh one.”

His original cup sat on the table with the time facing the class, sitting around the table watching him. He turned his new cup, and the time written on that cup perfectly matched his cup. As a matter of fact, each cup around the table was a perfect match with each dent, bump, scratch, and, yes, the time hand drawn on the cup in a black marker.

“My role in this class is to open your minds. When we return home in a few weeks, I will take each of you, one at a time, and have you make the perfect cup of coffee the way you want. It will be stored in a stasis field so the essence and heat of the coffee will not diminish. A month from now, I will place this table and chairs in the Jump Chamber, along with your coffee and a card with your name. If you do not realize it, your name card will be written in your handwriting. The card, coffee, table, and chairs will all be sent back to this moment, or instead to the moment it appeared a few minutes ago,” He paused and took a sip, turning over his card and laughing.

Robert spoke, “My coffee is perfect. I want to amend my earlier statement,” He grinned, Bret smiled, he saw it in his face, “Mr. B, time is a fluid. Changing, flowing, and merging with other portions of that fluid to create something new. The best part is that we can always go back to an earlier part of that river and relive a portion of our journey down that river, our journey through time.”

Bret smiled, “I like that Robert. I liked it so well that I wrote it down,” He showed them the back of the card, which he laughed at a minute or so ago. It was Robert’s exact words.

Robert had a baffled look on his face. Melinda spoke, “That, Robert, is the perfect look for you.”

Bret replied, “Melinda. The flow of time and the temporal transition paradox, as I call it, are the cause to a symptom. Robert is beginning to see that although we have command over time, time, ultimately, is a reality unto itself. That card was written by me when I sent this table into the past, which is our present. I already knew what Robert would say before he said it because I had read this card a few minutes before he said those exact words. What does that make me?” He paused for a heartbeat, “Simply well informed.”

Melinda added, “So, we can keep rewatching an event repeatedly until we completely understand that event?”

“Yes, and no. Interacting with yourself is never a good thing. If you are in a situation to do something similar, which I was during one of my first trips, you need not be able to see yourself. Change clothing, change hair color and style. For males, they grow a beard or a mustache. For the females, wear different makeup. These are the things that are universal throughout time. But whatever you do, be bland, uninteresting, and in the background.”

Mark asked, “Mr. B, did you see yourself or talk to yourself?”

“In all honesty, Mark. I saw twenty of me all over the event, watching, recording, and taking notes so that when I filed my report, it could be as complete as possible and from various angles.”

“When was this?” Melinda asked.

“1889.”

Robert said, “The Johnstown, Pennsylvania flood?”

“No, nothing so devastating. I watched Dr. Susan La Flesche Picotte graduate from medical school. I jumped around in her life and learned she wanted to be a doctor since she watched an older woman die because a white doctor refused to treat a Native American. She lived on the Oklahoma Reservation. She was endowed with several first. She was the first Indian to become a licensed medical doctor. She was the first person to receive federal monies for a professional education. I congratulated her on her accomplishment, and she viewed me like I was not who I appeared. In your travels throughout history, you will meet people who are sensitive to temporal energy. They know you do not belong but do not understand the feeling, which is good.”

Melinda got the best grin on her face and then a smile that seemed to go from ear to ear. Everyone saw it, no one asked, and she spoke. “This coffee is great, but I think a dessert should accompany it!”

She looked at Robert, who smiled back, “What time is it?”