Chronocide

Killing Time

We eat, sleep, sing, pray dream, tell — Sometimes we seek Mostly we squander time

Time. Where does it come from — is it rushing at us from up ahead or is it catching us from behind? And then, where does it go — inwards, outwards, up, down? Evaporate? And then, when you have chased time long enough and finally close your eyes for good, you invariably wish that you’d have some more of it (a small pocket flask set aside for emergencies, say) or at least that you would have spent it more wisely — a very common regret.

I am pretty sure I am not the only person on Earth ever to coin the word Chronocide, but I am honest when I say that I had not read it or heard it anywhere before I “came up” with it: Chronocide [from Greek khronos “time,” and Latin caedere “to kill”] — i.e., the killing of time.

It’s a good word, I think; even a great word. And since I consider it my (albeit not copyrighted) property, I get to make up my own definition, and here it goes:

Chronocide, the squandering of precious moments.

I think that definition holds water: the squandering of precious moments. As a child or adolescent or even young adult, these precious moments stretch out ahead indefinitely (though they don’t, of course, every second gone is one second closer to your death) so why not squander away? I am very time rich, thinks the young. Only they’re not, and they’re in prison.

And of course, every single moment is precious.

A good game is an interesting game that you can leave.

A bad game is a game that you cannot leave, interesting or not.

The truth is that you can leave the Earth game (Samsara), but only once you’ve seen through the sham of it all, and that, that can take many, many precious moments (if not lives). Most of us are born with not nearly enough of them to find our way out. Some are though, and if you were allotted a sufficient number of moments along with enough smarts (as in spiritual intuition) to map your way home, the only thing that guarantees that you will not find the path out of here is to never look for it in the first place.

Samsara 1–0 You.

You actually have to take the time and look. The ancient Hindus knew this — their philosophy and scriptures taught (and still do) that precious moments are not infinite in number and then gave this some further thought — some good though, I think. Some excellent thought.

Having thought it through, they devised a life-plan they named Ashrama; a word which signifies the four successive life stages of any man or woman, based on age.

In short, these four Ashrama stages are: Brahmacharya (student), Grihastha (householder), Vanaprastha (retired) and Sannyasa (renunciate).

In a little longer, the brahmacharya (student) stage — from childhood up to twenty-five or so years — focuses on education and includes the practice of celibacy, i.e., chastity during the student stage for the purposes of learning from a guru (teacher), and for some during later stages for the purpose of attaining spiritual liberation.

The second stage, Grihastha (householder), embodies married life, with the duties of maintaining a home, raising a family, educating one’s children, and leading a virtuous, family-centered social life.

You set out on the third stage, Vanaprastha (retirement), once you have handed over household responsibilities to the next generation, and taken on an advisory role, to then gradually withdraw from the world.

This third stage typically follows the second, Grihastha (householder), stage, but a spiritually inclined man or woman can choose to skip house-holding altogether, and instead enter Vanaprastha directly following the Brahmacharya (student) stage — this as a prelude to Sannyasa and spiritual pursuits.

The fourth stage, Sannyasa (renunciate) is intended for men or women in their later years, but young, spiritually mature Brahmacharis have the choice of skipping the householder and retirement stages both — renouncing worldly and materialistic pursuits to dedicate the rest of their days to a spiritual life.

Traditionally, Sannyasa took the form of nearly ascetic renunciation of material desires and prejudices through disinterest and detachment from worldly life, the more purely to spend the balance of one’s days in simple, peaceful spiritual pursuits.

Although honored more in days past, even today, the devout Hindu does navigate his or her life by the Ashrama road signs and principles. A good map, methinks. Especially in a world where we, as a rule, have to meet the challenges of commercial and social life. Not many of us have the luxury to skip life as normally lived and head for the monastery at twenty-five; and few would even if they could.

These days, though, I find myself very much a Sannyasi.

A Sannyasi who is acutely aware that the number of his precious moments are running out: if not today, perhaps tomorrow; and if not tomorrow, at least within a foreseeable future — and that is a sobering thought.

No chronocide here.

© Wolfstuff