We have the word eternal. And now, I’ve discovered the word perdurable— defined as “enduring continuously; imperishable.” Example: “A composer creates a perdurable aesthetic object.” It’s a new word for me. I’ve never heard it spoken, never read it in the wild. A new word isn’t always remarkable, but for some reason, this one surprised me.
Time and Its Shadow
Lately, I’ve been thinking about time. And that which claims to be timeless. But here’s the catch: “Timeless” still uses the word “time.” We define it by absence. Like “nothing”—which is still, paradoxically, a something. What’s an example of timeless? For some, it’s the little black dress—iconic, elegant, enduring. For others, a well-crafted phrase. But neither is truly eternal. Finite and Infinite We are strange beings: part finite, part infinite. Many believe our spirit is eternal, but our bodies? Clearly not. They reach a point of diminishing return. We are not immortal. Physics offers a reminder: The universe was created in a single burst of reality. Nothing has been added. Nothing eliminated. Everything only changes. We are made from that. From change itself. Technically—eternal. But never fixed. Always in motion.
Trapped in Time
All creation is held within time. Change is the evidence. Molecules assemble into matter—then disassemble into energy. Again and again. Existence is perdurable. We may not understand “timeless,” but we have words—straining to name what we cannot reach.
The Name Above Time
Perhaps the best name for this is God. Across cultures, God is described as eternal, perdurable, existing before time, outside time, creating time. And many faiths share a desire: to bring humanity back into God’s presence. The question isn’t are we eternal. The question is where—and with whom—we spend eternity. In the presence of God, or without? Still eternal. But forever alone?
Circles and Memory
In a way, we’re like circles: We didn’t exist. Then suddenly—we do. No beginning, no end. Suddenly… eternal. Maybe that’s the engine of procreation. Not just love of children— but a desire to partake in endurance. We “create” because we long for a moment to last. Longer than our limited “lifetime.”nAnd maybe, deep down,nwe doubt our own perdurability. So we breed. We write. We draw. We scratch animals on cave walls to say: I was here.
The Quiet Confession
I believe. Help me in my unbelief.
