You know the bit about the butterfly:
It flaps it’s wings on a Wednesday just after lunch and
the dinosaurs all die.

And the other bit, where you go back in time
and accidentally bump off grandpa
and POOF! You never existed.

Or just like yesterday, and you woke up,
decided on grapefruit instead of your usual vodka,
and you felt good enough to go out instead.

You time traveler, you. You did it again.
What might have happened, didn’t.
What if you eating grapefruit killed a butterfly, though?

We play a game with babies: cover and reveal.
“Where’s daddy?” Then whip away the cloth and he’s back.
Things exist that we cannot see.

We imagine we move through time because
Our brains record memories
And recall them “later”.

But that’s because we’re used to seeing
from inside the action,
where things don’t happen all at once.

In the mind of God, outside of all of this,
In the realm of pure thought,
Everything has already happened.

Past, future, now have no meaning,
nothing changes because everything all-when is,
change mere illusion depending on where you stand and watch.

Weird, isn’t it? A world where butterflies can kill dinosaurs,
Where what you see depends on where you stand,
And where traveling through time is what we all do, every day.