Hi ya all,
this is my very first day in here, and I just wanted to know the answer for this question from a long long time:?
If father time married mother nature, what would they name their child?
PS. sorry if it bothered you, but I’m too depressed to know what you think about it…
Hi Mariana, I don’t quite understand this sentence, could you explain it? 8)
Hi Mariana,
In their youth,they would name their child ULTIMATE HAPPINESS,
In their old age,they would name it DREADFUL MISERY.
Wishing you luck,
Soumaya
Greatly doubt, Marianna ever expected any answer for her question. Look at the date. Though the statement itself is quite interesting.
Anyway, if to disengage ourselves from the fact that Mother the Nature & Father the Time are abstract concepts, one can easily produce more than one answer to the “as-if-wise-saying”.
One of such ones is yours - quite poetic one - must be admitted.
More prosaic are like this:
One may ask: Why do you refer to description, to the visual appearance or material form rather than names. The answer can perfectly be illustrated by the extract from the “Lord of light” by Roger Zelazny:
[i]Sam sat with his eyes closed for several minutes, then said softly:
“I have many names, and none of them matter.” He opened his eyes slightly then, but he did not move his head. He looked upon nothing in particular.
“Names are not important,” he said. "To speak is to name names, but to speak is not important. A thing happens once that has never happened before. Seeing it, a man looks upon reality. He cannot tell others what he has seen. Others wish to know, however, so they question him saying, ‘What is it like, this thing you have seen?’ So he tries to tell them. Perhaps he has seen the very first fire in the world. He tells them, ‘It is red, like a poppy, but through it dance other colors. It has no form, like water, flowing everywhere. It is warm, like the sun of summer, only warmer. It exists for a time upon a piece of wood, and then the wood is gone, as though it were eaten, leaving behind that which is black and can be sifted like sand. When the wood is gone, it too is gone.’ Therefore, the hearers must think reality is like a poppy, like water, like the sun, like that which eats and excretes. They think it is like to anything that they are told it is like by the man who has known it. But they have not looked upon fire. They cannot really know it. They can only know of it. But fire comes again into the world, many times. More men look upon fire. After a time, fire is as common as grass and clouds and the air they breathe. They see that, while it is like a poppy, it is not a poppy, while it is like water, it is not water, while it is like the sun, it is not the sun, and while it is like that which eats and passes wastes, it is not that which eats and passes wastes, but something different from each of these apart or all of these together. So they look upon this new thing and they make a new word to call it. They call it ‘fire.’
"If they come upon one who still has not seen it and they speak to him of fire, he does not know what they mean. So they, in turn, fall back upon telling him what fire is like. As they do so, they know from their own experience that what they are telling him is not the truth, but only a part of it. They know that this man will never know reality from their words, though all the words in the world are theirs to use. He must look upon the fire, smell of it, warm his hands by it, stare into its heart, or remain forever ignorant. Therefore, ‘fire’ does not matter, ‘earth’ and ‘air’ and ‘water’ do not matter. ‘I’ do not matter. No word matters. But man forgets reality and remembers words. The more words he remembers, the cleverer do his fellows esteem him. He looks upon the great transformations of the world, but he does not see them as they were seen when man looked upon reality for the first time. Their names come to his lips and he smiles as he tastes them, thinking he knows them in the naming. The thing that has never happened before is still happening. It is still a miracle. The great burning blossom squats, flowing, upon the limb of the world, excreting the ash of the world, and being none of these things I have named and at the same time all of them, andthis is reality—the Nameless…
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