If we seek to put an end to war, my dear interlocutor, we must look not to the battlefield, but to the mind that wages it. For war is not born of the hands that hold the sword, but of the thoughts that shape the hand’s desire to grasp it. Some say that men fight for power, others for wealth, and still others for vengeance. But these are but shadows of the true cause, mere illusions that conceal the deeper sickness of the soul.

If we are to inquire into the nature of time, my dear interlocutor, we must begin by asking whether time is a thing that is, or if it is but a shadow upon the cave wall, an illusion cast upon the mind by the limitations of our perception. Many are they who assume time to be a river, flowing inexorably from past to future, carrying all things in its current. But what if, instead, time were not a river at all, but an ocean, wherein every moment already exists, though our senses, being bound to the corporeal world, perceive only a single wave at a time?