The Clock and the Cloud

Impermanence and the Passage of Time

"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man." - Heraclitus

The “obscure” philosopher, Heraclitus, drifted alongside the river of existence, marveling at its twists and turns. Each ripple was a reminder: everything changes, permanence is a myth, and in the dance of flux, we find our fleeting selves. In this way, Heraclitus gently defies the law of non-contradiction: the river both is and is not the same, just as life both holds and releases in a quiet passing moment. Everything has motion. Flux is his melody; it hums a quiet tune where opposites coexist, where being and becoming play together.

The essence of life is not merely to be alive; it is to live—and to live is to change and be changed. Every breath you draw, every step you take, every fleeting moment you experience, is a reminder of impermanence: a reminder that what something was just a moment ago is no longer the same. The ever-living fire dances through all things, consuming and renewing, reminding us that to exist is to flow, to transform, to become.

There is a clock ticking in the corner of the room, steady and relentless, measuring the hours with a certainty that admits no drift. There is a cloud, formless, dissolving before you may even name it. Between the two I find myself wandering: one hand pulled towards the tick of necessity, the other pulled towards the vanishing sky. Perhaps life is nothing more than this- an improvisation between minutes and mist, a melody that will not decide whether it wants to march or to float. And perhaps all we can do is listen, attuned to the melody that carries us forward and the silence that lets us drift.