Jay Griffiths

Huckleberry Finn complains about the clockworked Widow Douglas: “The widder eats by a bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits up by a bell – everything’s so awful reg’lar a body can’t stand it… I can’t stand it. It’s awful to be tied up so.”

The Algonquin saw something similar. When missionaries first arrived amongst them, the Algonquin called clock-time Captain Clock because it seemed to command every action for the missionaries.

We are all born with a sense of unclocked time, and one of the first and most ferocious lessons which very young children are taught is to obey the clock, to be punctual, to adhere to schedules, to recognize play time and school time (and think up reasons why there should be a difference between them).

As older kids know, a calendar where every hour of every day is full of pre-planned activities can be exhausting. But there is a further price: the moment may be scheduled, but at the expense of the momentous, for Captain Clock will not let you make an appointment with epiphany. The Widow Douglas’s punctual bell will allow you no reverie. You cannot schedule a daydream.

The ancient Greeks had different gods for different aspects of time (including the god of the moment when a party suddenly and inexplicably falls silent). One of the most important gods was Chronos, strict clock-time — Captain Clock, if you will — the god of linear, quantifiable, chronological time. But there is another ancient Greek god of time I much prefer: Kairos. Kairos represents not so much time as timing: Kairos is the god of opportunity, chance or mischance. Kairos gives his name to kairological time which is colored differently at different moments, because time is not just a matter of quantities of hours but qualities of time.

If you sleep because the clock tells you it’s way past bedtime, that is chronological time, whereas if you sleep because you’re tired, that is kairological time. Kairological time is a richer, trickier concept: time enlivened, various, elastic, and fertile. Kairological time is truer to the mind’s experience: that time may sometimes crawl as slow as a sloth sleeping off an over-energetic yawn, or it may race as speedy as a cub raccoon ricocheting off a tree-trunk which it lassoed with its own tail by mistake.

Many traditional cultures deliberately use this more subtle sense of time, so, for example, the San people of the Kalahari do not schedule when to hunt but rather “wait for the moment to be lucky,” reading and assessing animal behavior, sensitively judging the “right” time. I was once staying with the Karen people in Northern Thailand when I was told that a wedding would take place. “When will it happen?” I asked, thinking chronologically. Today? Tomorrow? Eleven o’clock? People smiled and wouldn’t answer in those terms. It would happen when the time is right, when the moment is ripe, using a sense of social grace which no clock possesses.

Many indigenous cultures resist the tight scheduling of time for young children and teens. When I spent time with Sámi people in Norway, I was shown how kids were always in charge of all their own time, sleeping, eating, playing when they wanted, and I was told how much it increased their sense of self-reliance and independence. Young people, I was told, would grow up less easily pressured by others, a captain of their own hours, not captive to Chronos or someone else’s clock.

There is a subtle politics at play here, which Basil Johnston, an Ojibwa man, noted. As a boy in the mid-twentieth century he was forced to attend a boarding school which ran like clockwork with bells, whistles, and gongs. To the boys, these symbolized “obedience, conformity, dependence, subservience, uniformity, docility, surrender” and the only defiance available to the kids was “passive resistance, which took the form of dawdling.”

Artists have long been in rebellion against Chronos, preferring to honor the moments of sudden artistic insight over which Kairos might preside. One of the perennial protests against Captain Clock has been the great art of doodling — the idler’s delight — and a word thought to be connected to dawdling. Emerson, Erasmus, Keats and Tagore were all famous for doodling, letting pictures and patterns spring up out of the mind’s fallow moments.

Earth, left fallow, experiences an inner-thriving, a self-fertilization. So, too, a fallow mind thrives in its own independence, its fertility from within. But a soil which is never fallow, which is force-fed with artificial chemical fertilizers and coerced into an unrelenting schedule of productivity will lead ultimately to crop failure and soil exhaustion. So, too, young people, subjected to endless “inputs” and the demands that their time must always be productive, can experience a sense of failure, depression, a sense of inner collapse and the withering of strength from within: the mind’s equivalents of crop failure and exhaustion.

Imaginative thought is — must be — unscheduled. Younger kids, engaged in make-believe play develop the ability to self-regulate because in imaginative play, they talk to themselves, planning and thinking in what psychologists call “private speech.” But in structured play, with no time for the mind’s dawdling and doodling, this private speech declines. The free play of the mind is just as necessary for older kids and adults, essential to art, when the mind playfully takes a line for a walk or plays on words or writes a play, when the photographer watches the play of light or the musician plays a violin.

The mind, playing seriously, moves into a realm of reverie, of daydreaming. “A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world,” wrote Oscar Wilde. Culture needs those invisible, inaudible and irresistible daydreams. But an unofficial war is waged against them. Watch the hard stare of the daydream police.

In the 1950s, some educational psychologists warned that daydreaming could cause neurosis and psychosis. Today, parents and teachers are exhorted to watch for “daydreaming indicators,” which include blank expressions or wandering eyes. Daydreamers are encouraged to use their time “constructively,” to join “structured” and “productive” clubs. Adults should “diminish the duration” of daydreams with interruptions, should ‘limit’ and “reduce the time spent per daydream” even using a “timer for planned fantasy periods.”

Parents are encouraged to send daydreaming kids to psychotherapists and counselors. In the classroom, daydreaming is regarded as undisciplined laziness, and one Internet post encourages teachers to “pick on” children who daydream, and suggests parents should get their children tested for Attention Deficit Disorder. There is even a newly-coined term “daydreaming disorder.”

I once watched a 13-year-old daydreamer. You might have thought he was doing nothing. But he wasn’t doing nothing, he was thinking on the inside, sailing lovely, fluent, and superfluous seas of thought, as the vague wave of daydream washed over his face which was vacant only on the outside. And, though he was far too lost in oceanic reverie to notice, an armada of scientists was kindly protecting him. In daydreams, which can occupy a third of our waking state, the brain becomes highly active in exactly those areas associated with complex problem-solving because in daydreaming the mind roams freely, broadly and profoundly across one’s life. Daydreaming nurtures creativity, and those given to mind-wandering score higher on tests of creativity than those whose minds are less nomadic. “For creativity, you need your mind to wander,” says daydream expert Dr. Schoolen of the University of British Columbia.

Scientists say there are three modes of thought: the first the instantaneous reflex, snatching a hand from a flame; the second, the diligent rational mind; but the third is the mind of insight, meditation, and reverie. The dreams of the day. A hush surrounds the daydreamer, a different kind of air, as if the nearby air of the ordinary had evaporated into the air which the soul breathes. The daydreamer is, on the sudden, journeying in an enormous and Other galaxy, an innate cosmos as far beyond as it is deep within. The human spirit itself needs those voyages of inner discovery.

In a KidSpirit PerSpectives article, acclaimed writer Jay Griffiths presents the case for a less rigidly structured approach to time — one that might help free our imaginations.

Why You Cannot Schedule a Daydream

Sofiy Inck

The grime.
And the concrete.
And the ripped posters.
And the broken benches.
And the trash.

The 2 whizzes by
marveling in its own speed and grandeur.
It sends anything into the air.
Newspapers.
The bottom of coats.
Chip bags.
My hair.

It all floats down
and for a moment
silence.

And then the doors fly open.
Mind the gap.
Mind the stroller.
Mind the guy listening to his iPod and not paying attention.

But for a moment,
with my hair blowing in the artificial wind.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Sofiy exults in an unexpected moment of weightlessness as a gust of wind from a passing subway pulls her thoughts elsewhere.

Forgetting

Alexandros Hubert

Life and death, the main events,
The moon, rising up out of the midnight sky.

The beach with all of its happiness
And stars way up high.

Shadows lurking in the distance
You their final prey,

And colors fill the sky and earth
Every night and day.

Falling in the midst of nothing
Through the blackness of your heart,

And poetry in all its beauty
The finest form of art.

In a KidSpirit poem, young writer Alexandros offers a contemplative look at night and day, shadow and color, and the beauty of poetry as an art form.

This Year

Meenu Ravi

Soul deep in visions that hasten to their end

Tick Tock the clock set to the moment in which I shall stand

The time comes, in which I shall balance upon the earth below my five little toes

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Meenu narrates an infant's dreamlike premonition of their yet-to-be-taken first steps.

My First Steps

Mannu Sharma

Slowly, slowly straight and down,
It shines like a brand new crown,
It passes from every town,
But sometimes it changes into brown.

It never stops, just flows and flows.
Thousands of flowers along it grow.
It is essential everyone knows.
It can sometimes be bad if reaches the nose.

It offers its service to everyone.
It doesn’t know father from son.
It doesn’t fear anyone,
Whether he has tank or gun.

It gives us a chance to continue our lives.
It comes into the kitchen to help the wives.
It can’t be shaped by a knife.
And it can make you strive.

Don’t you want to know what this is,
Do you think that something is still amiss
Run your mind and smooth it with grease.
It’s water, dear fellow, that can do all these.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Mannu composes a fond, winding ode to water through a series of rhyming riddles.

River Water

Susanna Olson

Every morning for three years I walked by that driveway, every morning for three years I waved at an elderly couple sitting in their garage, and every morning for three years I scurried onward.

They were always there: that cute little couple, holding hands and watching the world from their rusty old lawn chairs. I could imagine that they were lonesome and tired of the homely view, but what else can you do when you’re 95?

I am a shy girl, a very shy girl; a teenager who would prefer imagining perfect worlds and desperate situations I create and cater to my individual talents and abilities rather than facing the real world and real people. So as I skipped by on my routine preamble each morning I considered stopping in to say hello to my elderly neighbors and then scuffled onward, sure that I would be nothing more than an aggravating disturbance to their routine. “What routine?” I sometimes reasoned — they sat outside all day and waited tirelessly for their adult children to drop off food. Grandchildren were a rare treat of entertainment although a weak heart and recent knee replacement made it impossible for them to do anything but watch their grandkids hop around and (on a good day) catch them over the knee for a few minutes of storytelling. Fearing an innocent old couple sitting peacefully on their front yard doesn’t seem reasonable until you’re at the end of a long driveway — trying to walk towards them.

I watched other neighbors stop by, older neighbors who know exactly what older people were supposed to talk about. I gave myself many excuses and continued to hastily pass, feeling the guilt of a subpar neighbor.

Then one day I told myself that enough was enough. They wouldn’t shoot me for introducing myself would they? I stared down the driveway and sucked in a gallon of air.

Whoever invented the long driveway must have been very unsociable. As I walked toward their peaceful spot on the lawn I noted their kind but confused faces staring back at me. Doubts and thoughts of turning back ran through my mind a hundred times before I reached the end of that walk. I convinced myself how silly and babyish retreat would be. Sooner than expected I was staring the couple face to face and apparently they expected me to say something:

“Hi, I just wanted to introduce myself, I live two doors down from here.”

The couple smiled and asked me to pull up a chair. I smiled back and nervously seated myself.

“What’s your name?” the old man asked.

“Oh I’ll never forget that, it has a song… what’s that song honey?”

“She was coming ‘round the mountain.”

“Oh yes, ‘Oh SUSANNA’! I’ll never forget your name!” He said with a smile. His wife smiled back at him and agreed.

Fifteen minutes later they’d shared a plethora of great old stories, I felt like I’d known their family for generations: all their children from Billy to Barbara, probably grandparents themselves by now but still seen as young children in the eyes of their genial old parents.

I chatted for a while; our conversation happened in bits and pieces. I’d comment that the weather was real nice or that the summer had been extraordinarily humid this year, then they would ask me what I’d said. After a few exchanges, I’d manage to shout out the gist of my original sentence and they would make a simple reply. They would be reminded of the summer that “their Billy” was just 10 years old and star of the little league team, then I’d hear a favorite story that they’d already told me before, but it just got better with every telling.

There were pleasant spaces between stories and fragments of conversation, we’d all sit quietly and watch cars drive by, and then someone would break the silence by pointing out a busy squirrel mother building a nest in the rafter of the house next door.

Talking with Tom and Betty (as they insisted I call them) was a very different social experience for me. I did not feel pressure to constantly entertain; they were satisfied enough by the presence of a rare newcomer — and a young one at that. The silence in between dialogue was pleasant, not awkward. Every time they asked me where I lived I would challenge myself by trying to create a new way to tell them that I lived two houses down the street. I enjoyed every story they told, no matter how many times they told it, as well as all the words of age-old insight they shared.

“What time is it” Betty asked and I glanced down at my blue sports watch.

“Already?” Tom raised his voice in surprise and Betty added, “Time just marches on doesn’t it, honey? Time just marches on. I remember the year our Billy was 10 years old and top of his game. There was this one particular little league game I’ll never forget…”

“Billy was 10 then, boy, I don’t even know how many of them guys is still around anymore.”

“Time just marches on, honey, time just marches on.”

“That’s sad, honey, but time just marches on.”

“What’s your name again? I apologize, I’ve plum forgotten!”

“Susanna? There’s a song for that name… let’s see.”

“Oh Susanna! I’ll never forget that name — I’ll never forget.”

I spent about an hour chatting away on their lawn. As I got up to leave they made me promise to return assuring me, “We’ll be here,” with a mischievous grin. I did come back, and although each time I got a few of the same stories and the same questions, I never regretted it. I’ve learned so much about life from my experience with them, and greatly value the relationship we share.

As insignificant as it seems I still look back to that first moment — the moment in which I stood at the wrong end of that seemingly never-ending driveway staring awkwardly into their faces — and decided to walk forward. By breaking through my shyness for just a second, an opportunity of a lifetime sprang forward, a relationship that has and will continue to change me greatly. I’ll never regret that long walk.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Susanna begins to process time in a new way after befriending an elderly couple next door.

Time Just Marches On

Sam Fraley

Fog lingers like the words of a friend, or even a stranger. Obscuring much, it is a protector, concealing hidden fortunes, only to timidly reveal them when the time is right.

In this case, there is a small outdoor school. The fog lingers under canopies and in open space. The wind bites like an angry animal, wanting you to know it’s there and not to cross it. There is no one here, only the wind carrying whatever it can find, words and litter alike. The wind is a messenger. Right here, nothing is happening. But what about the small suburban house 400 yards north? There a child is taking his first steps, surrounded by the anxious faces of relatives. They will remember this moment forever, clinging to it like an heirloom, as opposed to the memory of the troubled lonely student finally leaving school. Both opposites, like Yin and Yang, are happening at the same moment in time.

Fog creeps up the house’s windows, and idles around the vacant swing-set. It sits, willing to stay the same forever. It covers all it can. But now, retracing the student’s steps, you see the environment that some children hate, and others adore: school. The school isn’t desolate all the time, in spite of the worn down grass and litter. It feels even lonelier with the left over trash and the lost-and-found clothes, as if there are people here, hidden in the shadows. In a day or two, the now shivering benches might be crawling with life. The same house with the young explorer could be vacant. Will unrelenting winds bring down the heavy hand of change to the fog, send it sprawling for cover like a wounded animal? Eventually everything changes, the only unknown variable is how long it takes. Things can be frozen in constant repetition for years, only to change with the smallest push, a word or phrase.

A dozen years into the future, that same toddler is now rebelling against his parents. Perhaps the school has been rented out, or all the teachers are gone. The same lonely kid may be lonelier than ever, or recalling his middle school days spent in anguish. But time is still sprinting forward.

Every day happens once, and only once. If the events of one day were changed, how would things be different, how would it affect the greater image of life?

If someone had stepped up and befriended the lonely teenager, how would his life have been different? If you were standing at the center of the school, from its start to its closing, there would be a million moments, a million memories, and a trillion emotions. All of those leading up to, affecting , and ultimately contributing to the lives of numerous alumni of that school, whether they realize it or not. It would still be the same place, but things are changing rapidly. From a strong economic area to a weak one, from a large population to a small one — yet in the same school.

Looking around, a single person can perceive the change. The student can see changes in the appearance of the school and even the emotional field of unseen signals. They can see everything going on at the school, sure, but are they living it? They may or may not be feeling the joy of being around hundreds of people their age, they may or may not feel nostalgia or regret as the year ends. Time makes unforeseen changes to the world around us; it shapes the essence of us as beings. Every moment is evolving and transforming into another. It’s how we proceed that’s important.

The world is always happening. Are you a part of the world happening around you?

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Sam dwells on the image of a thick fog to explore simultaneity, repetition, and the inexorable forces of change.

One Among Many

Sharon Lin

When I had first heard of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button from a friend, I was given the impression that it was nothing more than a romantic fantasy drama.

Looking back, I now see that what at first seems like fantastical story about a man aging backwards through time holds intricacies that no classification can describe.

On December 25, 2008, Paramount Pictures and Warner Bros. released The Curious Case of Benjamin Button to the public. The movie is directed by David Fincher and features an alternate take on the short story of the same name by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was a sensation, going on to receive thirteen Academy Award nominations and winning three Oscars.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button opens up in a clichéd setting, with a scene shot in a hospital filled with tension, anxiety, and anticipation. An aging Daisy Fuller is found beside her daughter Caroline. As she feels her life seeping away, Daisy directs her daughter to read a mysterious diary. Although Caroline is at first unsure of the identity of the man named Benjamin Button, the author of the diary, she quickly commences to narrate the story of a man who was born with an unfortunate condition: despite having a normal mind, Benjamin ages backwards.

The movie immediately thrusts into a dream-like meditation on life and death as the story unwinds. The boy, Benjamin (Brad Pitt), grows up in a nursing home after being abandoned by his father. His foster mother, Queenie, acts as the perfect caregiver, loving him to no end. As the story develops, he meets a young girl, Daisy (Cate Blanchett), whose grandmother is staying at the same nursing home as he. She acts as his closest friend as he learns that despite his physical appearance, he is really a child inside and will age like any normal person. Even though Benjamin ages backwards, she treats him no differently than any other peer. Through the years, they begin to see through the barrier of physical time, and a fragile love develops. Each new scene introduces a new stage that tugs Benjamin and Daisy closer together and brings them on a fantastical journey through time and space. From a tugboat in the Pacific Ocean, to the Cold War in Russia, viewers will not cease to be amazed not only by the steady and subtle plot, but also by the characterization and deep emotions that are portrayed in the storytelling.

At first, I had my doubts about this film. The idea of aging backwards seemed to be cliché, and paired with a trite romance I could have strutted away before even watching the movie. I am grateful I did not. Instead of cheesy dialogue and plot holes, I was hit head on with an allegory about the fragility of life and death that left me speechless. Although the idea of love may seem to be imminent, the darkness and perceptual twilight of the scenes seems to suggest a deeper story. The film team did an excellent job with the production of the movie. Never before had I seen a film with such trance-like progression of age and time. The ending of the film left me feeling empty, yet warm; it ends with the message that although life is short, living it to the fullest is all that matters.

Even so, the heartwarming message and beautiful direction might not be right for you. Many scenes in the movie depict extreme violence, strong language, drinking, and smoking. I would strongly recommend kids ask their parents before watching this movie.

Otherwise, I found that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was a tear-inducing film, and I would recommend it to kids above 13 and all people who enjoy a deep meditation on life, time, and all qualities of the human psyche.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Sharon evaluates "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," a film adapted from an F. Scott Fitzgerald story in which a main character ages in reverse.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Sidarth Jayadev

Time is a concept that has perplexed mankind for history. What is time?

We see time all around us, from the ticking of clocks, to the vibrations of a quartz crystal. However, these devices only measure time, whether in hours, minutes, seconds, or even milliseconds. They don’t answer the question of what time really is.

This question is one of the central points of the PBS show, The Fabric of the Cosmos, hosted by theoretical physicist Brian Greene. The show is a four-hour, four-part series based on Greene’s bestselling book by the same name which aired on PBS’s NOVA in July and early August, 2012 (it is also available on DVD). In the series, Greene describes time as a river that flows in one direction. At least, that’s how we perceive the concept of time. But let’s shift our view from physics, to moviemaking. A movie is made when a projector rolls several frames in a certain amount of time. For standard movies, the projector speed is 24 frames per second. But, what are those frames? Those frames, in fact, are simply still pictures. Our brains take all of the still frames and combine them into a “movie.” Brian Greene asks if time is like that: Is time really just a set of “still” moments, and do our brains perceive the “rolling” of these moments as the “flow” of time? In The Fabric of the Cosmos, Greene suggests that time is a collection of “moments,” and that the flow of time really does not exist.

Let’s think about this for a second. If time consists of “still moments,” does that mean that traveling to the future is simply traveling through thousands of “moments?” Time travel has been a dream for mankind, and it certainly was an intriguing idea for Albert Einstein. Einstein states in his Special Theory of Relativity, that the speed of light, 670 million miles per hour, is the “speed limit” of the universe. If you want to travel to the future, you would have to travel near this gargantuan speed limit. If you want to travel to the past, then 670 million miles an hour is not enough! If you traveled on a spaceship that traveled very close to the speed of light, you would have aged only a few years, while the rest of Earth aged much more. Unfortunately, Uncle Einstein doesn’t allow time travel to the past, since traveling faster than light is not possible. If that were the case, as Brian Greene puts it in his series, we should be seeing time travelers from the future in our own era!

The Fabric of the Cosmos is a thrilling show that literally stirs up one’s curiosity about the weirdest facts of the universe. Let’s face it: The universe contains 400 sextillion stars, more than the grains of sand on all the beaches on Earth. Humans have a lot to learn about nature’s mysteries!

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Sidarth takes a look at theoretical physicist Brian Greene's fascinating PBS show, "The Fabric of the Cosmos."

What is Time? A Review of The Fabric of the Cosmos

Zachary Armine-Klein

The movie Hugo, directed by Martin Scorsese, is based on the award-winning book The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick. Hugo is a charming movie that explores ideas ranging from the essence of time and memory to the history of movies.

In addition to all of the fantastic human characters portrayed by a wonderful cast, the physical clockworks within the train station setting and a mysterious automaton also become important characters in the film.

The main character, Hugo, is convincingly played by Asa Butterfield. In the opening scene Hugo is looking through a large clock face down into a train station. We do not know who he is or why he is apparently inside of a clock. The scene is not in color, and the constant movement of the people in the train station, along with the movement of the clock hands, makes the opening look like an old-fashioned movie when each frame would flicker and move in a jerky kind of way. This scene alerts us to the importance of clocks and the passage of time in the movie. It also is a clue that old movies will play an important part within the mystery of this movie.

As the movie goes on we learn the mystery of Hugo’s story. Hugo has been orphaned and he is hiding out in the train station keeping the clocks running. He is avoiding detection by the train station security guard, played in a sinister way by Sacha Baron Cohen. In addition to keeping the station clocks running, Hugo is trying to restore an automaton that was left to him by his deceased father. An automaton is an early form of robot which was motorized by gears like a clock. Hugo is convinced that the automaton contains a secret message from his father — yet another mystery to solve. The automaton is also missing an important part, which is the key to winding the internal clockwork to make the robot run.

Hugo scavenges bits and pieces he finds throughout the station. He gets his best parts by pilfering from a cranky toy maker, Papa George, who has a shop in the station. Ben Kingsley’s portrayal of Papa George as a broken man with a frightening temper is simultaneously heartrending and terrifying. After several tense interactions, Papa George gives Hugo a job in his shop repairing toys.

Hugo befriends Isabel (played by Chloë Grace Moretz), the niece of the toy maker. Ms. Moretz portrays Isabel’s character as an adventurous young woman with heart, who loves to read and solve mysteries as much as Hugo. She is also Hugo’s “hero” in that she saves him from the wrath of Papa George. Together they discover the mystery of Papa George’s past and the tragedy that made him such a bitter old man. The character of Papa George is based on the historical filmmaker George Méliès, the first person to ever use special effects in movies.

One of the greatest things about Hugo is the acting. Asa Butterfield, as Hugo, captures the essence of a curious teenager who is trying to figure out how the world works. Ben Kingsley, as Papa George, masterfully represents an old man with demons he is trying to forget. Chloë Grace Moretz as an adventurous and bold type of girl will engage female audience members who might think this is a “guy” film. The special effects, the automaton, and the clockworks are so important to the story line that they can also be considered “characters” in the movie. One scene that I found particularly fantastic is a steampunk nightmare scene in which cogs and gears turn Hugo into an automaton. I really think that the special effects department does a grade A job. Additionally, the screen play itself is incredibly touching and fun.

One of the few problems I found was that the pacing, especially in the beginning, was too slow for my taste. Establishing each of the characters and their personal mystery was painstaking, but for me it was also tedious. For example, establishing why Hugo has an automaton, why he lives in the walls of the train station, why he keeps the clocks running takes a very long time. These are important details to move the story line forward since the answers to these questions unfold throughout the movie in interesting and dramatic ways. Nonetheless, I found the beginning too slow and detailed. Although this technique did increase my emotional investment in the character of Hugo, I think I would have been just as immersed in the story if it had moved along at a quicker pace.

Overall, I highly recommend renting or buying a copy of Hugo on DVD. I think it is a fantastic mystery movie that both boys and girls will enjoy.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Zachary shares his thoughts on Martin Scorsese's "Hugo," about a boy who unearths the past of an irascible toymaker while living in a train station.

Hugo: A Mystery Within a Mystery

Naomi Chasek-MacFoy

Time is a naturally occurring phenomenon, integral to our existence from moment to moment.

That being said, in many ways, it is a human construct, meant to limit, and order our world. Individual conceptions of time are indicative of a specific worldviews. In our society, time is a straight line, with a past, a present, and a future. There is no going back. The future cannot be expedited in its arrival. Considering this paradigm, time is alternately liberating and oppressive.

Pressure to complete an action within a given amount of time can be immense, even terrible. When that period has elapsed, however, the relief is often equally powerful. Time liberates the present from the past and people from obligation, but also creates insurmountable barriers between desire and achievement, sorrow and happiness. In fact, even the notion of time ticking on and on into eternity can be overwhelming and oppressive. It can also be as beautiful and fulfilling as watching a stream wend its way through a dense forest. Overall, the particulars of the situations in which we find ourselves as well as the way we regard time define its effects.

The following are several illustrations of the alternately liberating and oppressive nature of time:

Imagine a grey, dreary day. The sky is cloaked in a thick swath of dark, wooly clouds. Rain, and hail fall forcefully, to the ground, which lies prostrated below. Fresh, young leaves of plants are bent under the wrath of the rain. They contort themselves painfully, falling lower, ever lower, to the ground. Angry red welts appear on the forearms and necks of foolish passersby who remain insufficiently dressed, despite the weather. Retreat to the welcome dry of an awning is the only escape possible.

Here is an example of the liberating aspects of time. Only time will make the rain stop. In fact, the constant passage of time brings about both the genesis and termination of the rain. In and of itself, time does not cause the rain to fall. Atmospheric pressure, and various other forces are the true agents. The passage of time is, however, a catalyzing force, allowing for the rain to begin to fall, and ultimately to for it to end, bringing about considerable relief. Thus, as a force outside of human control, time can offer respite from forces that are also out of our control, such as the weather.

Imagine a field, lush, green, slightly damp in places where the sun’s rays are blocked by the opacity of a pine tree’s branches. Little white clover blossoms dot the lawn, a testament to the wonderfully random aspects of nature. Five friends appear, carrying supplies for a picnic. Laughing, eating, singing, they while away the day together. But the day must end. As the sun dips below the horizon, in one last explosion of golden light, they pack their things.

Here, as in the former example, time is the force catalyzing the end of a given event. In this case, however, time is an oppressive force, dictating the end of a moment of happiness, while its essential mechanisms persist. Time is demarcated naturally, by the rising and setting of the sun, just like the passage of seasons, which go on perpetually. These demarcations are not time itself, but a manifestation of its passage in our environment. In this circumstance, we see that the two are inextricably linked.

That is to say, time cannot exist without nature, and nature cannot exist without time.

Imagine a bus station. It’s 8:49 in the morning. A small, motley crew of workers awaits the bus dispassionately. Their ennui, after years of labor, is palpable. A young businessman, in a crisp suit rises from a nearby subway station, taking the stairs two at a time. The bus rolls almost noiselessly towards the stop. The businessman walks briskly toward the bus station, conscious of its imminent arrival. His phone rings, and he pauses, momentarily to answer its repeated chiming. The bus stops, the passengers embark, orderly, their daily travels having made them cogs in a well oiled machine. The businessman breaks into a run, trotting briskly along the cement. The bus rolls on, past the station. The businessman halts, abruptly, and seeing that the bus is gone, he stamps his foot, hard. Slight pain reverberates throughout his heel. He will be late.

This example illustrates the oppressiveness of time in a fundamentally different way. Time is not only demarcated naturally, but also artificially, through human inventions such as clocks, and schedules. These methods of delineating time, because of their links to society, are oppressive in a different way. While natural forms of time demarcation oppress in a personal way, limiting or increasing individual happiness, societal forms of time measurement have more interpersonal ramifications. This is exemplified above, as the young man’s business relationships are affected by the bus schedule. That is not to say that artificial ways of defining time are necessarily oppressive: they create order in our society, and can be liberating in that capacity. Overall, human delineations of time oppress, or liberate our interpersonal relations.

Ultimately, time is neither singularly liberating or oppressive. It has both qualities, possessing them alternately. As a force, time is so fundamentally natural, that to speak of the oppression of time, is to speak of the oppression of any natural force; all natural forces are at once utterly liberating and completely confining. As a natural force, time has personal effects, with fewer social ramifications. However, humans humans interact with this natural force most often through the filter of such societal constructs as schedules. This form of time measurement is also alternately liberating and oppressive, however it has broader consequences in terms of interpersonal relations.

Although, time is both liberating and oppressive on these two levels, the constant passage of time, seen either cyclically or linearly is undeniable and immutable. This rigidity allows for individuals to work within the constraints of time to achieve their own ends. There is no danger of time actively working to increase its control. There is a sense of freedom in this notion, despite the obvious constraints inherent in our interaction with time. Ultimately, time is both liberating and oppressive, but its nature also allows individuals to reclaim control.

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Naomi delves into the complexities — both favorable and unfavorable — of our contemporary relationship to time

Is Time Liberating or Oppressive?

Madison Friedman

Time is an intriguing and mysterious notion that not everyone considers. It is one of the few things that we encounter in our everyday lives that no one truly understands.

Over the course of thousands of years, countless different cultures have tried to comprehend this difficult concept. Two major ways of understanding time are the linear concept and the cyclical one. Although both centered around the same ideas, they are very different and the way one views time has the power to change the way one experiences life.

The more popular view in our culture today is linear time. This is the Judeo-Christian and Western concept that is familiar to most Americans. This perspective sees time as going in a continuous horizontal movement, always going forward from past to present to future. In this concept time is unstoppable; time cannot be changed and once a moment occurs it is gone forever.

This idea may seem somewhat depressing and harsh. However, the approach keeps us looking forward and in theory, unconcerned about the past. Using the linear idea it seems pointless, a waste of time — which is so central to this view — to fixate on the past, be blind to the future, and to reminisce over what could have been. Time continues forever and therefore there is always another day to look ahead to.

The notion of linear time comes from the belief that God created the earth. In both Judaism and Christianity the world began with Creation. Therefore, in the linear concept of time there is a beginning, which means there must also be a middle and an end.In the grand scheme of things, everything since Creation has been the “middle,” and everything on will still be the “middle.” This middle part of time will continue, progressing in the way time does until we reach the “en.” On a smaller, more individual level, the “beginning” for each person is birth, the “middle” life, and the “end” death.

The other popular view of time is the cyclical concept. This idea began thousands of years ago and was the view of ancient Greek society. Today, the cyclical notion is seen as the Eastern concept of time and is believed by people in many religions, including Hindus and Buddhists. Cyclical time was the accepted view of the Aztecs, Mayans, Incas, Hopis, and many more. This idea is that time moves in circles, or cycles. Those who believe this say that time repeats itself over and over again in a sort of spiral that is continuous.

In the Hindu tradition, this concept comes from the god Brahma. Brahma is seen as without beginning and without end. Hindus believe life on Earth ends when Brahma ends after literally trillions of years. However, when this happens, a new world is created with a new Brahma and the cycle continues. On the non-religious side, the idea of cyclical time was created by ancient cultures watching what was happening around them. They knew that the seasons repeat, they noticed that every few hours there is a day and then a night and then day comes back and so on, they also noticed that events tend to repeat themselves. For example, war. War happens and then is followed by a period of peace, but then war happens again. Looking at it from this perspective, the concept seems logical: similar things do happen and days and seasons of course come again. However, the difference is that they are never the same. No two years are exactly the same and no two days are exactly the same, either.

Although linear and cyclical notions of time are separate from each other conceptually, in a sense they are also very similar. Both ideas see time as something that continues. In neither view can anyone stop the progression of time and simply “get off the ride,” whether the ride is going straightforward or in loops.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Madison explores how major faith traditions have embedded concepts of linear and cyclical time into their core beliefs.

Time Through the Different Eyes of the World

Gracie Griffin

How does a person know when something inside of them is changing?

Things do change. Storms turn into sun, snow melts into spring. People change. Perhaps a new talent or hobby is rising out of the abyss that is the human brain. Have you ever shaken a dust filled rug or piece of cloth? The dust whirls in the light, dancing around. How can something so dirty seem so graceful in that moment? That’s how I picture change, floating out of the darkness.

Or does change come as a sudden zap of shock like the moment at a surprise party where everyone yells that word that changes everything—“surprise!” My whole life could be a string of surprise parties, waiting for the right moment to happen, just waiting for me to open the door on them.

Some people have that sixth sense, knowing when change is around the corner. Others stumble blindly into it, like going through a pitch black tunnel, when one turn careens you into the light. Others still can see slightly, but it’s blurred like a gossamer curtain drawn across their eyes. Maybe, just maybe, it is different for every moment, every change. How will we find the answer? What philosophical journey must we take to solve this great mystery?

Having the ability to change is one of the greatest gifts. Our lives turn out a certain way and “why?” isn’t really the question. Do we decide to sit and ponder how we ended up here, or do we share stories of our adventures on the way? Who knows where we will be in 10 or 20 years? Change is unstoppable, but change is also beautiful and spectacular. Though it might not seem important, it adds to the great masterpiece of your life. One grain of sand in a stretch of beach, one star in the sky, one wave on the ocean. We may feel different things, sometimes grief, sometimes the greatest joy imaginable, but overall, it is simply adding to us, making us who we are. Some believe in karma or in set paths. Others don’t really know. But why squabble over religion, beliefs, and the supernatural when we can live and experience and enjoy. Enjoy this life we live. Enjoy what we have been given. Enjoy every change we have seen and those that haven’t yet arrived. These moments that make up our lives are part of us, it’s true. But one single moment can make all the difference.

We speak of philosophers, people who search for the answers to mysteries. They travel through oceans and forests, fast for days, waiting for signs from above. Perhaps we are mistaken–maybe they don’t know. Maybe others who to us seem unimportant carry answers to our questions: a teacher, a student, a postal worker, a chef, an artist, a writer, a person like you. Look at what we do in these minds of ours. We talk and we think, we question, we wonder, we imagine, we create. We change. But even though change is inevitable, it doesn’t mean you can’t be who you are. Don’t hide behind false faces and false emotions. Change happens. We all know it does. We can’t stop it. Instead of seeing this as a problem, embrace it. Carl Gustav Jung, a Swiss psychiatrist, once said, “Only that which changes remains true.” Be true to yourself, even when you do change. Be you in the biggest sense you can. Do what you want to do. Say what you want to say. Feel anything that you need to feel. Don’t let anyone keep you from embracing your inner self. How does a person know when something inside of them is changing? Hard to tell, but I can tell you one thing, it brings up some really good questions.

Picture this. A day where the sky is a clear cerulean and the sun is bathing everything in light as it slips down to meet the horizon. Winter is over and green leaves have unfurled to bask like cats in the warmth. A sprinkler clicks at intervals skyward, sending crystal droplets in an arc through the air. Beauty surrounds the girl on the bike who pedals homeward in a jersey stained in the souvenirs of a lacrosse game. I have talked so much about questions and moments and change. But in the end, isn’t just living enough? Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese author and peace activist, wrote, “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child–our own two eyes. All is a miracle.” Though pondering these esoteric concepts of why a person changes and who you become can open doorways to mystery, you may miss openings of doors in reality.

The world will change
But its happiness won’t change

The people will change
But their smiles won’t change

The seasons will change
But their beauty won’t change

The days will change
But the sun and moon won’t change

Just like the color of the pretty sky and snow
Our love will never ever change

Whether we enjoy change, yearn for change, or avoid change, we will always have each other. We will always have love and joy. This poem shows that things change and we can’t help it. Whether it be that surprise party or that tingling sixth sense, change will slip into our lives. I started this piece over a year ago, sitting in my room, listening to my mom’s gentle breathing. I finish it in the midst of a summer thunderstorm. I have changed and that’s enough for me because “People will change, but their smiles won’t change.” I am happy and at peace with who I am and who change will bring me to be. This piece has changed. From a rant trying to find an answer to a realization that acceptance of change will make all the difference. I have covered the who, when, where, why, and how of change. I have left out the what. But, you need to figure out your own “what.” Is change something you fear or you welcome? I know I haven’t answered all the questions that I have brought up. I’m sure you haven’t answered all your own questions and inquiries that come into your life. Maybe we share common queries. But, instead of quarreling over who has the “right” answer, we should wait for the answer to present itself as we live each day, fully accepting change for what it does. Remember, to know is to be intelligent, but to live is to be wise.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, young writer Gracie reflects on the unique beauty of the human capacity for change — which happens whether we want it to or not.

Something Inside

Elizabeth Berg

Today’s world moves at a lightning-fast pace.

I can travel to the other side of the globe in less than a day, send messages to my friend across the country in a matter of seconds, and hear about current events two continents away just moments after they occur. Although the speed of such communication seems beneficial, many have wondered whether our desire for a fast-paced society has resulted in us losing other things.

Plagued by this concern, specifically regarding what people eat, Italian journalist Carlo Petrini started the Slow Food organization in 1986 to oppose the global spread of fast food. The founding manifesto states, “We are enslaved by speed and have all succumbed to the same insidious virus: Fast Life, which disrupts our habits, pervades the privacy of our homes and forces us to eat Fast Foods.” Petrini specifically protested a McDonald’s opening in Rome across from the historic Spanish Steps.

Many others, believing that the “Fast Life” has harmful consequences, have followed his example, forming subgroups of the Slow Movement such as Slow Living, Slow Travel, and Slow Money. Slow Food, Petrini’s organization, remains the most significant of these subcultures. Spread across the world, with thousands of members and hundreds of chapters, the movement has a single goal: to improve the way we all eat. Local groups strive for this in different ways. Some chapters, staying in line with Petrini’s original goal, spend most of their time protesting the spread of fast food and encouraging the growth of small artisan food production. Others support organic and sustainable farming. Some groups think that the best way to change the current flawed food system is by educating the public about nutrition, the horrors of factory farming, and the lack of genetic variation among mass-produced crops. Other chapters work more directly with the government, lobbying for funding of organic farms and encouraging bills to limit the use of pesticides and genetic engineering in commercial agribusinesses.

Upon founding the Slow Food movement, Carlo Petrini stated, “everyone has the right to good, clean, and fair food.” Unfortunately, no matter how many reforms the movement creates, this goal seems unattainable. Cynics criticize the Slow Food movement as elitist, because not everyone can afford to buy only local, organic produce or spend the time to make dinner from scratch every night. The fact is that there’s a reason that fast food chains, large factory farms, and genetically homogenous crops have all become commonplace: for a comparatively low cost, they produce a lot of food. Organic farms don’t use pesticides, which means they have to throw out a greater percentage of their harvest than other farmers. The United States currently has 1 million farmers, but if we wanted to feed everyone only organic produce, we would have to increase this number to 40 million.

There is a middle ground, however. I understand that our society has progressed past the point at which we can only eat what’s produced locally, and it just isn’t feasible for every farm to become organic or for smaller businesses to replace all fast food franchises. However, even if Petrini’s original goal may never be attained, I agree with the Slow Food movement’s original ideology and the intention of the movement’s name. When people quickly grab a fast food meal, they are eating only to fulfill a biological need. Every chapter may strive for Petrini’s original goal in different ways, but simply by focusing so intently on food, they are instead turning meals into experiences. I believe that this mindset is the most important and universally accessible aspect of the Slow Food movement. Regardless of expense or even time, everyone can afford to slow down to appreciate and truly enjoy food.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Elizabeth investigates the goals and criticisms of Carlo Petrini's "Slow Food" movement, which aims to cultivate better relationships toward food.

Slow Food vs. Fast Food: Is There a Middle Ground?

Time is something we can’t change. We can’t speed it up or slow it down. We can’t jump through it, or stop it. We can never be in control of it.

But what if we were in control of it? Better yet, what if one person was in control of it? How would they use that power? Would they make themselves a god? Would they solve injustices from the past? Would they only visit the future or be interested in things from history?

One of the reasons that the British television show Doctor Who is so popular is that it was one of the first shows to experiment with time travel and the human race’s fascination with time. We project these questions onto the Doctor, the main character of the show, hoping that by making up and exploring stories about time travel, we can figure out how that power would affect us. In this piece I want to explain how time works in the world of Doctor Who and talk about how time is viewed in the show.

In March 1962, the BBC’s Eric Maschwitz asked his script department to think about a concept for a new sci-fi show. The report came back about a month later strongly suggesting that the new show be about time travel. Sydney Newman invented the character of the Doctor, a 907-year-old alien from a planet called Gallifrey, who travels around in time and space and is not actually an MD. He also invented the Doctor’s spaceship, a time-traveling police box called the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space).

During the first season the show attracted about 12 million viewers. The series was so popular that the BBC wanted it to continue, so the writers came up with a process called regeneration. Regeneration is the process that occurs when the Doctor is dying. The Doctor recreates every atom in his body, and after regeneration, the Doctor has a new and different body, as well as a new brain, and a different personality. As the Doctor says in the “Christmas Invasion” episode in 2006, “See, there’s the thing. I’m the Doctor, but beyond that, I — I just don’t know. I literally do not know who I am. It’s all untested. Am I funny? Am I sarcastic? Sexy? Am I an old misery? Life and soul? Right-handed? Left-handed? A gambler? A fighter? A coward? A traitor, a liar, a nervous wreck? I mean, judging by the evidence, I’ve certainly got a gob.” The series has been able to continue on with the Doctor regenerating every time the BBC needs to replace the lead actor. The series will celebrate its 50th anniversary in 2013 and was proclaimed by The Guinness Book of World Records the longest running sci-fi show.

“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually — from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint — it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly… timey wimey… stuff.” – The Doctor (“Blink,” 2007)

In the world of Doctor Who, there are two types of time: flux time and fixed points in time. In flux time, anything can happen; it is literally fluxing, flowing, all the time — always changing. A time traveler can go back and forth in flux time, acting freely, changing whatever he or she wants. However, in fixed time, things must always happen the same way, so nothing can ever change. And if fixed time points were ever to change, time would die. I like to think of it as an overcooked piece of spaghetti tacked with two thumbtacks, the pasta is the flux time and the tacks are the fixed points in time. If you were to take one of those tacks out of the pasta the whole thing would collapse.

The way that you travel through time is by going through the time vortex, which is a kind of tunnel that exists all throughout space and time. You go into the tunnel and from there you can navigate anywhere in space and time. The thing about the time vortex is that it can’t track people. So basically if I wanted to meet Abraham Lincoln I would have to go the White House in 1863 and hope that he would be there. I can’t go to specifically where Abe Lincoln was in 1863, I would just have to guess.

There are multiple ways to travel in the time vortex, the most common way in Doctor Who is in the TARDIS, which is the Doctor’s ship, and she is not very reliable. Another way the Doctor travels is with a Vortex Manipulator. A Vortex Manipulator allows you to travel in the vortex but is not covered so traveling with it is very taxing on your body.

The main thing that draws me to Doctor Who is the way the show views time. It portrays it as a delicate thing that needs to be protected, which is a way that we don’t often think of time. We often think of it as a current that moves too fast and never stops, that no one is in control of it, and that we just have to ride it out until eventually it drowns us. Time is a bully. But not in Doctor Who. In Doctor Who it is a delicate balance that can be screwed up by one human making one selfish mistake. It is the Doctor’s job to protect the balance and to keep time healthy, and he seems to have a good time doing so.

I wanted to end on a philosophical note but I also wanted to write about how much fun the show is, so I have done both. Below you will find two conclusions, the first one philosophical, and the second one about the show. Please pick the one you want to read and pretend that I didn’t write the other one because, well, what kind of person writes two conclusions?

Doctor Who teaches you a lot about space and time and made-up galactic laws but it also teaches you that humans do not live forever and we are certainly not that important in the grand scheme of things — which sounds unsettling but also quite comforting. So remember that time is short, but is often rich with beauty.

I have tried many times to get many friends to watch the show, but have seen that Doctor Who is not for everyone. However, if you find yourself interested in a sci-fi show, I cannot recommend it enough. It is funny and sad and beautiful. I laughed and cried and wished that I had a 907-year-old time lord to travel the universe with. The community that surrounds it is very welcoming and it is worth any time that you can give it.

“Yeah, listen, listen, got to dash… things happening. Well… four things. Well… four things and a lizard.” — The Doctor (“Blink,” 2007)

In a KidSpirit Feature article, young writer Sofiy unpacks how the hit BBC series Doctor Who handles the theoretical and thematic consequences of time travel.

Over-Cooked Spaghetti and Police Boxes That Fly

Eleanor Goetz

The paradox of the eternal and the temporal is at the core of this issue of KidSpirit. From the experience of the “thin current” in our daily lives to explorations of eternity itself, this theme is both a reflection of the peculiarities of our era and on the mystery of the human condition.

1. In Susanna Olson’s Awesome Moment, “Time Just Marches On,” she describes an unexpected encounter with an elderly couple in her neighborhood. She forms a close friendship with them in spite of the many years that separate them. Are people of different generations in your community close, or do most people interact only with others their own age? Are there benefits or drawbacks to having close relationships with others who are much younger or much older than you? What about people who are only a few years older or younger?

2.	The Slow Movement began as a reaction against a fast-paced culture that seems to value expediency over the mindful enjoyment of many aspects of our lives. Are there parts of your life that you notice seem to fly by too quickly? Activities that you wish you could experience more slowly? What are they? Try doing a task more slowly than you would normally, like walking to school or to a friend’s house, rather than driving or riding your bike. What do you notice as you take more time to do that activity? Where does your mind travel in those extra minutes?

3.	In her PerSpectives article, Jay Griffiths describes the difference between chronological, or “clock” time and kairological time, or the natural time we experience in daily activities, when time feels fast or slow. Keep a time journal and take notes about your daily experience of time. Do you think about time when looking at a watch or clock? Do you think about it when the sunrises or sets, or when the air is getting warmer or colder? Do you notice time when you’re waiting for something boring to end or notice when you’re engaged in an absorbing activity? What do these moments reveal about our experience of time? Is time a measuring device with a beginning, middle, and end? Is it cyclical? Jot down your thoughts in your journal and compare notes with your friends.

Exploring Time Group Guide

The paradox of the eternal and the temporal is at the core of this issue of KidSpirit, showcasing a panoply of views from young thinkers and artists. From the experience of the “thin current” in our daily lives to explorations of eternity itself, this theme is both a reflection of the peculiarities of our era and of the mystery of the human condition.

The Big Question

More Stories

Poetry

PerSpectives

Like what you're reading?