Table of Contents
Trapped in the Endless Cycle of Time
Introduction
“Time is not a line, but a series of now-points.”
– Taisen Deshimaru
Why does time feel like a loop we can’t escape yet never quite repeats?
The same alarm rings each morning—a small signal in the vast machinery of daily life. The motions are familiar: rise, prepare, engage, rest, repeat. There is a comfort in the routine but also a quiet dread. For all the motion, there is a stillness—an uncanny sense that though we move through days, we’re circling the same existential track.
For most, time is not a neutral phenomenon—it is felt. And how we feel time often determines how we perceive life itself. To a child, time stretches endlessly. To an adult, it compresses. But what changes is not time—it’s us. This subjectivity suggests something curious: perhaps time is less an external force and more an internal mirror shaped by our memory, identity, longing, and fear.
The philosopher Kierkegaard once said, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” Herein lies the paradox. We look to the past for understanding, yet we are pulled forward by the promise—or burden—of tomorrow. In this liminal space between retrospection and anticipation, we find ourselves spinning, repeating, and wondering if we’ve been here before.
Are we prisoners of time? Or have we imprisoned ourselves in thought, behaviour, and perception patterns? What if the cycles of time aren’t traps but thresholds—waiting for us to walk through them with awareness?
This article is a meditation on that mystery. We will explore the nature of time, the illusion of repetition, the role of the self within the loop, and the possibility that even within predictability, we may find freedom—not by escaping the cycle but by awakening to its purpose.
1. The Nature of Time — What Is It?
“Life must be understood backwards. But it must be lived forwards.”
– Søren Kierkegaard
Time is the silent architect of our lives—ever present, yet intangible. It governs the growth of trees and the fading of stars, the ageing of our skin and the evolution of galaxies. And yet, when asked what time truly is, we falter. We can measure, track, and name it—but we cannot grasp it. As St Augustine confessed, “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him, who asks, I do not know.”
From a scientific perspective, time is often seen as the fourth dimension—an arrow that moves in one direction, bound to the laws of thermodynamics and entropy. It is linear, measurable, and objective. But lived time—the phenomenology of time—is something else entirely. It is elastic. A moment of joy can stretch into eternity; a year of sorrow can vanish into a blur.
Philosophers such as Heidegger and Bergson challenged the notion of time as simply chronological. They argued for a felt time—a psychological and existential unfolding rooted in consciousness. Heidegger proposed that our being is inextricably linked to temporality, that to be human is to exist within the tension of past, present, and future. Meanwhile, Bergson described two types of time: chronos, the quantitative time of the clock, and durée, the qualitative time of inner experience. In durée, time is fluid, layered, and non-linear—like music, where notes linger and overlap, shaping meaning in their resonance.
Consider this: time does not exist in the present moment. The now, by the time we perceive it, is already gone. This has led some mystics and quantum theorists to ask—is time even real? Or is it a framework the mind imposes to bring order to the infinite? In Buddhism, for instance, time is often seen as illusory—what matters is presence, not chronology.
Yet, paradoxically, we live our lives by time’s structure. We make meaning through beginnings and endings, birthdays and anniversaries, deadlines and histories. Time is both the frame and the canvas—it limits us, yet the narrative would be impossible without it.
So what is time? Perhaps it is not a thing to be solved but a field to be entered—an invitation to exist more fully, more consciously. Time is not merely what ticks on the wall; it is what breathes inside us when we remember, imagine, and become.
2. The Cycles of Time — Why Loops Feel Inescapable
“You can’t stop the future; you can’t rewind the past. The only way to learn the secret… is to press play.”
– Jay Asher
There is something haunting about repetition—the alarm clock, the commute, the conversations we’ve had a hundred times. The calendar offers the illusion of newness, but underneath its pages, something ancient pulses: cycle upon cycle, echo upon echo.
Why does life feel so circular, even when the years progress? Part of the answer lies in the brain. Neuroscience and psychology tell us that our perception of time changes as we age. In childhood, everything is new, and the brain records novelty more richly—thus, time feels spacious. In adulthood, routine takes over, and the days blur. Familiarity collapses perception, giving us the eerie feeling that life is speeding up.
But the sense of being stuck runs deeper than biology. Freud called it repetition compulsion—an unconscious drive to re-enact unresolved experiences. It’s why we find ourselves in the same kinds of relationships, arguments, and patterns over and over again—not because we haven’t learned, but because we haven’t yet integrated. The psyche repeats what it cannot transcend.
Philosophers, too, have grappled with this sense of cyclical fate. Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence asks: If you had to live your life again and again for eternity, would you curse it—or embrace it? This is not a metaphysical proposition but a psychological challenge: to live in such a way that even repetition becomes sacred.
In Eastern traditions, cycles are not problems to be escaped but truths to be understood. The Hindu and Buddhist concept of samsara—the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth—is not punishment but a process. We are not doomed by repetition; we are invited by it. Each return is a chance to awaken more deeply.
From seasons to spirals, from the orbit of planets to the rotation of thoughts, life is rhythmic. Loops are nature’s language. But they are not prisons unless we sleep through them. When we bring awareness to the cycle, the loop transforms into a spiral—repetition, yes, but never quite the same. Growth is embedded in recurrence.
Perhaps we feel stuck not because time traps us but because we haven’t yet learned how to move differently within its dance.
3. The Intertwined Loop — Time and the Self
“The present moment is the only time we have dominion.”
– Thích Nhất Hạnh
Time is not just what surrounds us—it flows through us. Our perception of it is inseparable from our identity, our memories, our fears, and our longings. As we change, so does time—not in the clocks or calendars but in the lived experience—the interior landscape where meaning takes root.
The self is not fixed. It is a becoming—a story told in time. Yet, we often live like static beings caught in an ever-moving world. This illusion fractures us. We chase future goals with past wounds. We cling to roles we’ve outgrown. We loop, not because time demands it, but because the self has not yet awakened to its own authorship.
Philosopher Henri Bergson’s idea of la durée—the inner duration—captures this beautifully. Unlike the mechanical ticking of seconds, inner time ebbs and flows, bending with mood, memory, and attention. This is why a single conversation can change more than a year of routine. When we are present, time expands; when we are lost in mindless motion, it collapses.
But modern life tempts us into exile from the present. The future is marketed to us endlessly: plan, optimise, prepare—meanwhile, the past whispers through nostalgia, regret, and trauma. The present becomes a corridor, not a home. And in that in-between state, we forget that the only place the self can change is now.
To break free from time’s loop is not to escape it—but to re-enter it consciously. Practices such as meditation, art, dance, spiritual devotion, and even deep conversation allow us to inhabit time fully. In these moments, the self is no longer fragmented across past and future—it is whole, lucid, and awake.
Think of how music works: each note matters only in relation to the ones before and after. But to play music, you must be in the note you’re playing now. The self and time are like that—an unfolding symphony where mastery comes from presence, not prediction.
So, while time may appear to loop externally, the self need not return unchanged. Each cycle is an opportunity to reorient, shed, and evolve. Time and self are dancers—moving in rhythm, learning from each other, and shaping each other’s steps.
When we align the inner and the outer—when we embrace our becoming within the spiral of time—we are no longer merely passing through life. We participate in it with full consciousness and choice.
4. Is Everything Related — Everything Exactly Where It’s Supposed to Be?
“You can’t stop the future; you can’t rewind the past. The only way to learn the secret… is to press play.”
– Jay Asher
There are moments when life seems to whisper, “This was meant to happen.” A missed train leads to a life-changing encounter. A delay becomes a blessing. A heartbreak turns out to be a doorway. These synchronicities stir a quiet wonder: is everything connected? Are we exactly where we’re meant to be?
Philosophers and mystics alike have long contemplated this. The Stoics believed in logos—a rational order underpinning the universe. Everything, they said, unfolds as it should. The Bhagavad Gita speaks of dharma—the sacred duty or path that aligns with the cosmic rhythm. Meanwhile, modern thinkers dabble with chaos theory and quantum entanglement, exploring how deeply interwoven all things might be—even across time and space.
But if all is interconnected, where does that leave free will? Are we passengers in a vehicle driven by fate, or are we holding the wheel?
Perhaps the paradox is only apparent. Consider this: a tree grows toward the sun, but its shape is determined by countless variables—soil, weather, wind, accidents. Is the tree free, or is it guided? Maybe the more profound truth is that free will and fate are not opposites but collaborators. Life offers us a structure—rhythms, cycles, and relationships. Within that framework, we compose our own melody.
If time is a great wheel, then perhaps we are the spokes—each turning with it, yet possessing a unique point of view. Our choices matter, not because they change the wheel itself, but because they determine how we move through it.
In that movement, we discover purpose—not pre-written but emergent—arising from the fusion of the path and the walker. We do not follow destiny as a fixed map. We co-create it, moment by moment, through awareness, intention, and action.
The idea that everything is exactly as it should be is not fatalistic but liberating. It means we are never out of place. Even our confusion, our pauses, and our detours belong to the design. As Rumi said, “Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you.”
So, is everything related? Yes—and more than we can ever fully grasp. The same breath that moves the oceans moves us. The same rhythm that spins galaxies pulses in our veins. We are not separate notes in the song of time—we are chords, harmonising with the whole.
Perhaps the deeper invitation is not to understand this mystery but to trust it. To move with the cycles, to act with awareness, and to know—deeply, quietly—that even in uncertainty, we are exactly where we need to be.
Conclusion — Dancing with the Spiral
“Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.”
– Pema Chödrön
What if time is not a flat circle but a spiral gently coiling through the cosmos—a sacred rhythm that returns not to imprison us but to refine us?
We often speak of being “trapped in time,” as though time were the enemy—an external force imposing itself upon our freedom. But what if time is not a trap but a teacher? What if the cycles we experience are not evidence of stagnation but invitations to transformation?
Each morning may look like the last, but you are not the same person waking up. Each season may return, but it returns to a different world. And each memory that resurfaces does so with new meaning, depending on who you are when it arrives.
The loop only becomes a prison when we walk it in sleep. But when we step into the circle with awareness, it becomes a dance—a spiral of evolution, an unfolding of self through time. The repetition is not redundant; it is revelatory. In the familiar, we are asked to bring something new: a fresh perception, a more profound truth, a more compassionate response.
We are not powerless. We are participants in the great choreography of existence. And like any good dancer, our freedom lies not in abandoning the rhythm—but in learning how to move with grace, presence, and soul.
So perhaps the real question is not how to escape the cycles of time but how to meet them differently—with open eyes, steady breath, and the courage to be new inside the old.
Time, then, is not a cage—but a spiral staircase. Each loop takes us higher if we let it. And the view from above? A greater self. A wider love. A deeper truth.
May we learn to dance with time—not to escape it, but to become more fully ourselves.
Book Recommendations
- “The Order of Time” by Carlo Rovelli – A poetic yet scientific exploration of time, blending physics with philosophy.
- “Time and the Soul” by Jacob Needleman – A meditative examination of how modern life distorts time and how to reconnect with deeper temporal awareness.
- “Being and Time” by Martin Heidegger – A cornerstone of existential thought, exploring the fundamental connection between human existence and temporality.
- “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle – A spiritual guide to escaping the illusion of linear time through presence.
- “Creative Evolution” by Henri Bergson – Introduces the concept of durée (inner duration) and challenges mechanistic time.
- “Four Quartets” by T.S. Eliot – A profound poetic exploration of time, consciousness, and redemption.
- “Eternal Recurrence and Other Essays” by Friedrich Nietzsche – Offers insights on cyclical time and the psychological implications of recurrence.
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