The clock on the wall is a dial of numbers and mechanical hands. It compartmentalizes life into organized segments. The clock tells me when to do this and when to do that. Yet it doesn’t know me nor does it see me nor does it hear me.
This timepiece I need when contacting others; when the sun is going down here, it may be rising over there. This timepiece I need when doctors I must meet; schedules are written in segments of time. This timepiece I need when customer service I seek; business hours are finite in hours and zones.
To the clock on the wall I may glance when I am hungry for in the glance, I will decide where I can go for food. If it’s late night, it may be that I go to the kitchen or to a 24-hour diner. To the clock on the wall I may glance when I am tired for in that glance, I will decide if I will crash on the sofa for a nap or grab a source of quick energy.
The clock on the wall may help guide me in doing what I have to do. It does seem as if the hands of time do not move fast enough when I labor in duty and moves swiftly when I labor for pleasure. Yet the clock on the wall often has been my lord and master.
The clock on the wall can only reveal how long I’ve slept yet not how much I’ve rested. The clock on the wall may be an indicator of where to go for food yet it will never satisfy my hunger. The hands on the clock may point to which part of the world I can respectfully call, yet the clock will never give intimacy for loneliness. Yet the clock will never tell the story of Love.
The clock on the wall is a tool when dealing with the external world, yet it often serves to hammer the internal. Mankind’s relationship to time can be like a ball and chain, yet time was created for a relationship with Love. In the end, you will have served your time but has time served you well?