The Gates of Tremedal: Time & Timelessness

Time. We are wealthy with time. Ive noticed the not-wealthy imagine that riches bring freedoms. I bet the actuality of wealth brings heavy anxiety too. The poor see and dream of wealth with unquestioned loyalty. I’ve seen the rich, and they, often, aren’t worthy of the emblems the poor place on them.


Time. Empty schedules.  We can waste time, plan it, spend it frivolously or, in unexpected instances, treasure it. Free time has its peculiarities. Unlike money, we cannot donate it to worthy causes or lend it without interest. Time is both infinite and finite. Money is finite. Though, money is an abstraction too. It’s concreteness is formed by the agreed value of billions of people, and its solidness can bring miseries, real and imagined.

Time is rubery. Time passes quickly, and it lingers and extends.

I awake at 05:30, sometimes. Other mornings, I wake at 09:30. I am often reminded of a lyric from a New Wave song, “I wanna get up, when I wake up.” Regardless of the hour, I have a steady routine: coffee, fire, and a cigarette. With the coffee hot, and the tinder burning, I head outside for a cigarette. I return with firewood and a half a cup of cold coffee. Nursing the morning fire, I read the internet: weather, sports, financial markets, and, just a few headlines of the US political show. Hours pass unnoticed.

For the first few months, I did not know what to do? I had so many projects: music, painting, writing, photography, film-making. Like a child with a room full of toys, I didn’t know which one to choose. In October, we would spend time walking and exploring the village and the mountain. Once the weather turned its attention toward winter, we were bound to our home. To remedy the slight paralysis, I made a schedule. It’s remedial and silly, but it worked. Take away some of my toys, and I will play.

In the summers of my youth, my friends and I would sit on our porch steps, and say to each other, “What do you wanna do?” “I don’t know what’d you wanna do?”

At night, I sleep long and hard – sometimes waking with a headache that disappears with coffee. We don’t sleep in the bedroom. The bed that was included with the home is small and valleys in the center. After ten days or so, my wife suggested that we sleep in the children’s loft – an attic like space. A ladder of eight steps leads to the cubby-holed space. It has a light and a shoe-sized table and three foam pads. Helena sleeps on two of them, I have the other. The floor tilts to the left, and I roll softly away from my wife.

I lean left in my dreams.

My wife poses the notion that the tall height of our sleeping chamber, set in the peak of this high house, which is set on the highest peak in the village, which is the highest village in the collection of villages, encourages our lofty dreams.

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