Time is a human idea. We think that it's a constant thing and that we live in the present.
In our imagination, the present is all there is of time. We are held in the present. We look to the future and see the past. We look to the past and see the future. The more we see of one, the more we see of the other. We go round and round.
The present remains still, a fixed point; and the past and the future both swirl out of it, encircling it in all directions with spheres of movement, like electrons around a nucleus, like stars spinning in a galaxy.
We are caught in the movement of time. Whether we measure time passing by the amount of water dripping out of a cracked pot or by the speed of light makes no difference at all.
We cling to the essence of the present in the midst of an existence that is all movement for all of time.
Life is circles, round and round, but we try to deal with it with an idea of time that makes us think and plan our lives as if we were on a straight line; but all things turn in on themselves, and in the end we are brought back to the beginning.
We're held in a present that engulfs us, with a past always ending, and a future never beginning.
For us, the circle of our lives must tell a story before we can begin to understand our existence in the symphony of time.