Mar 23, 2026 05:33 PM
(This post was last modified: Mar 23, 2026 06:16 PM by C C.)
https://www.theguardian.com/science/2026...aginations
EXCERPT: . . . Time is elusive in other ways, too. We have no sensory organs for detecting it, nor any dedicated brain areas for tracking it. Our experience of time can vary hugely: minutes drag if we’re bored or uncomfortable; hours race if we’re excited or having fun; we can easily be fooled about how much time has elapsed. And in certain circumstances, our sense of time can even go in circles, break apart or stop altogether.
Take Lara, who suffers from a condition called akinetopsia, in which events no longer progress smoothly but in sudden jumps. When she pours tea, the liquid appears as a frozen column in the air, before suddenly overflowing the cup. One man with psychosis described repeatedly reliving the same half hour. In one classic study of the psychedelic drug mescaline, an intoxicated volunteer ate a spoonful of soup before glancing away from his plate and back down: “It had been in front of me for hundreds of years.”
Rather than being mere mistakes or distortions, these effects reflect something deeper: the role we all play in creating our own time. Because even cosmologists, measuring the universe, don’t find any moving river of time: most believe there’s no physical flow of events beyond our perception, no moment of “happening” or “becoming” in which the future slips into the past. Quantum physicists come up empty-handed, too. The famous double slit experiment shows that a physicist’s choice of how to measure a photon influences what they observe: whether it travels through one slit, like a particle; or through both, like a wave. But there’s a lesser known variant of this experiment, in which the physicist doesn’t decide what measurement they’ll make until the last possible moment.
In this case, their choice, at the point of measurement, apparently influences not just the current status of the particle they find, but the journey it has already completed: even “past” events are unfolding as we look. As the novelist William Faulkner wrote, “The past is never dead. It isn’t even past.”
Time, then, is less a universal truth than a feature of how we interact with the world. This insight is reflected in the way some indigenous communities experience time... (MORE - details)
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The brain itself is the sensory organ for detecting time or the appearance of it. Via antecedent information being stored in memory, it compares that with new information and discerns a difference between the two (interpreting that as change). Each of those cognitive distinctions is an island unto itself, only presenting itself as real. Granted, though, the narrative part of consciousness isn't usually paying attention to each automatic discernment of difference and so the assessment of "temporal passage" can subjectively seem to vary.
One thing about akinetopsia is that it illustrates how -- even if there was an objective flow, where time is speciously treated as if a substance flowing through a structure -- we would not be experiencing that mind-independent rate but instead the brain's retarded representations. There are subatomic events measured in zeptoseconds and "smaller" time units that the brain's milliseconds in duration snapshots of consciousness would extend over and not capture (even if they could peer down unaided to that substrate).
EXCERPT: . . . Time is elusive in other ways, too. We have no sensory organs for detecting it, nor any dedicated brain areas for tracking it. Our experience of time can vary hugely: minutes drag if we’re bored or uncomfortable; hours race if we’re excited or having fun; we can easily be fooled about how much time has elapsed. And in certain circumstances, our sense of time can even go in circles, break apart or stop altogether.
Take Lara, who suffers from a condition called akinetopsia, in which events no longer progress smoothly but in sudden jumps. When she pours tea, the liquid appears as a frozen column in the air, before suddenly overflowing the cup. One man with psychosis described repeatedly reliving the same half hour. In one classic study of the psychedelic drug mescaline, an intoxicated volunteer ate a spoonful of soup before glancing away from his plate and back down: “It had been in front of me for hundreds of years.”
Rather than being mere mistakes or distortions, these effects reflect something deeper: the role we all play in creating our own time. Because even cosmologists, measuring the universe, don’t find any moving river of time: most believe there’s no physical flow of events beyond our perception, no moment of “happening” or “becoming” in which the future slips into the past. Quantum physicists come up empty-handed, too. The famous double slit experiment shows that a physicist’s choice of how to measure a photon influences what they observe: whether it travels through one slit, like a particle; or through both, like a wave. But there’s a lesser known variant of this experiment, in which the physicist doesn’t decide what measurement they’ll make until the last possible moment.
In this case, their choice, at the point of measurement, apparently influences not just the current status of the particle they find, but the journey it has already completed: even “past” events are unfolding as we look. As the novelist William Faulkner wrote, “The past is never dead. It isn’t even past.”
Time, then, is less a universal truth than a feature of how we interact with the world. This insight is reflected in the way some indigenous communities experience time... (MORE - details)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The brain itself is the sensory organ for detecting time or the appearance of it. Via antecedent information being stored in memory, it compares that with new information and discerns a difference between the two (interpreting that as change). Each of those cognitive distinctions is an island unto itself, only presenting itself as real. Granted, though, the narrative part of consciousness isn't usually paying attention to each automatic discernment of difference and so the assessment of "temporal passage" can subjectively seem to vary.
One thing about akinetopsia is that it illustrates how -- even if there was an objective flow, where time is speciously treated as if a substance flowing through a structure -- we would not be experiencing that mind-independent rate but instead the brain's retarded representations. There are subatomic events measured in zeptoseconds and "smaller" time units that the brain's milliseconds in duration snapshots of consciousness would extend over and not capture (even if they could peer down unaided to that substrate).

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