It’s petrifying how little from the world truly exists: only the now.
Such a narrow flickering glimpse.
The past is memory. The future is simulation. And they are both occurring in the now, the recalling of the memory, the playing of the simulation. Aren’t they?
But the mind refuses to admit it. The mind finds this microscopic now terribly boring. How can you compare this skimpy moment to the vastness of the past and the future? it asks.