MAPPING TIME
A Journal of Spatial-Sequence Synesthesia
Introduction: A World Ordered in Space
There is a map in my mind. It is not a map of places, but of time. Days, months, years—they stretch out before me like a landscape, each moment occupying its own distinct space. Monday is here, a small hill to my left. December is there, a distant peak on the horizon. The year 1995 is a valley, lush and green, while 2023 is a plateau, vast and open.
This is my world, shaped by spatial-sequence synesthesia, a condition where sequences like time, numbers, or even the alphabet are perceived as spatial patterns. For me, time is not a line; it is a three-dimensional terrain, rich with texture, color, and form. This journal is an exploration of that terrain—a journey through the landscapes of my mind.
Entry 1: The Shape of Days
Date: Monday, October 9, 2023
Today, I woke up to the familiar sight of Monday. It sits to my left, a small, rounded hill covered in soft, gray mist. The week stretches out before me like a winding path, each day a distinct landmark. Tuesday is a gentle slope, Wednesday a rocky outcrop, Thursday a dense forest, and Friday a sunlit meadow. The weekend is a wide, open plain, dotted with flowers and bathed in golden light.
I’ve always seen time this way. As a child, I thought everyone did. I would draw maps of the week, labeling each day with its shape and color. My teachers thought it was a creative exercise, but to me, it was as natural as breathing.
This morning, as I sipped my coffee, I traced the path of the week in my mind. I could feel the texture of each day—the rough bark of Wednesday’s trees, the cool grass of Friday’s meadow. It’s a strange comfort, knowing where I am in time, seeing the journey ahead.
Entry 2: The Calendar as a Landscape
Date: Wednesday, October 11, 2023
The months of the year are a vast, rolling landscape. January is a snowy plain, white and silent. February is a frozen lake, its surface cracked and jagged. March is a field of melting snow, dotted with the first signs of spring. April is a blooming garden, May a sunlit forest, June a golden meadow.
The summer months are a series of warm, open spaces—July a sandy beach, August a sun-drenched hill, September a field of ripe wheat. October is a forest ablaze with autumn colors, November a misty valley, December a mountain peak dusted with snow.
Today, I stood at the edge of October’s forest, looking out at the months ahead. I could see the path winding through November’s valley, up to December’s peak. It’s a strange feeling, seeing time as a physical space. It makes the future feel tangible, like a place I can visit.
Entry 3: The Years as a Timeline
Date: Friday, October 13, 2023
The years are a timeline, stretching out before me like a river. The 1990s are a series of gentle curves, the 2000s a straight, steady flow. The 2010s are a series of rapids, turbulent and fast-moving. The 2020s are a wide, open expanse, calm and serene.
Each year has its own shape and texture. 1995 is a lush, green valley, filled with the sound of birdsong. 2001 is a sharp, jagged cliff, its edges rough and uneven. 2020 is a deep, dark chasm, its depths shrouded in shadow. 2023 is a sunlit plateau, its surface smooth and even.
Today, I stood on the plateau of 2023, looking back at the river of years behind me. I could see the twists and turns, the rapids and calm waters. It’s a strange comfort, seeing the past laid out before me, knowing that each year has its place in the landscape.
Entry 4: The Alphabet as a Path
Date: Sunday, October 15, 2023
The alphabet is a path, winding through a forest of letters. “A” is a tall, sturdy tree, its branches reaching toward the sky. “B” is a boulder, smooth and round. “C” is a curved path, leading into the forest. “D” is a deep, dark cave, its entrance hidden by vines.
Each letter has its own shape and texture, its own place in the landscape. The vowels are bright and open, like clearings in the forest. The consonants are dense and shadowy, like thickets of trees.
Today, I walked the path of the alphabet, tracing the shapes of each letter in my mind. I could feel the texture of “M,” rough and jagged, the smooth surface of “S,” the sharp edges of “T.” It’s a strange, beautiful world, this forest of letters.
Entry 5: The Future as a Horizon
Date: Tuesday, October 17, 2023
The future is a horizon, stretching out before me like an open plain. I can see the path winding through the years, each one a distinct landmark. 2024 is a gentle hill, 2025 a dense forest, 2026 a wide, open meadow.
Today, I stood on the edge of the present, looking out at the future. I could see the path ahead, winding through the years. It’s a strange feeling, seeing the future as a physical space. It makes the unknown feel tangible, like a place I can visit.
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