What kind of dharma is time? Is it a substantially existent dharma similar to matter? Time is not material form (rūpa), not a substantially existent dharma, and not a mental dharma either; it is neither form nor mind—it is a conditioned dharma dissociated from mind (citta-viprayukta-saṃskāra). Why is time dissociated from mind? Because dharmas manifested by mind must necessarily correspond with mind: the dharmas conjured and produced by the three transforming consciousnesses working in concert correspond with the three transforming consciousnesses, arising, ceasing, changing, increasing, and decreasing according to what mind transforms. But time, this provisional dharma, is not conjured and produced by the three transforming consciousnesses; it is a provisional dharma manifested through the conjunction of mental dharmas, material dharmas, and mental factors. Therefore it cannot be transformed according to mind; it cannot arise nor cease, cannot be lengthened nor shortened, and can neither be gained nor lost. Time is not a substantially existent dharma like matter. Material form is formed from the four great seeds (earth, water, fire, and wind) and is a real dharma, whereas time is not formed from any seed; it is manifested through the relative changes of matter, and is therefore a provisional dharma, not substantially existent—like a turtle's hair or a rabbit's horns, invisible, untouchable, and ungraspable.
What, then, is the function of time? Time has no substantive function; a provisional dharma cannot be put to use. Because time is a provisional dharma with no utility, it also cannot be given to one another or seized from one another. Someone might say: "You took up my time; you wasted my time." In fact, there is no such thing at all—no one can take up or waste anyone's time. For example, suppose I should be eating a meal right now, but you come over, and I have no choice but to keep you company in conversation and resolve your matter, and so the meal goes uneaten. Does this involve time? Whether eating, conversing, or resolving matters, there is no dharma called "time" in any of them; from beginning to end it is only the operation of people, affairs, and things—the three running together in conjunction. The length of this process is what displays time, making people feel that it took this long to resolve these matters.
That which can display the length of the operation of mental dharmas and material dharmas is called time; the length of a process of material change is called time. For example, one month after a baby is born is called the "full month"; one month is time, but in fact it is merely one stage of the baby's growth and development—there is no such thing as "time." Whether the baby grows and develops for one year, ten years, or a hundred years, or for one second, one minute, one hour, or one day, all of these refer to the baby's process of growth; there is no dharma called time. Time is displayed passively. Someone says that time now seems to have stopped, to be unmoving; in fact it is the mind that has stopped moving and ceased discriminating—there is no such thing as time. To say that time moves or does not move is conceptual proliferation (prapañca), just like discussing how a turtle's hair or a rabbit's horns might be—all equally conceptual proliferation.
When we look at time, we look at clocks: the second hand, minute hand, and hour hand on a clock combine to display time. Without these hands there is no time, and with these hands there is likewise no time. Most fundamentally, time is displayed according to the position of the sun moving across the sky. Without the sun there is no time, and with the sun there is likewise no time. When the sun rises above the horizon, humans define this state as the morning of a day; and because the temperature is relatively low at the same time, they define the state of the morning sun arising as "early morning." When the sun rises to the sky overhead, humans define it as the noon of a day. When the sun descends below the horizon, humans define this state as the evening of a day. Thus one revolution of the sun is defined by humans as one day. Then, by tallying the cycles of the sun's movement, they define ten days, half a month, one month through twelve months, one year, two years, and so on. All durations of time are displayed only by relying on material form; there is no real dharma called time.
If someone asks me to handle some matters, I say I have no time. In fact, no one possesses time; it is only that each person has their own affairs to attend to and cannot do other things, and this is provisionally named "having no time." Doing anything is related to mental dharmas and material dharmas, and mental dharmas are dharmas of arising, ceasing, and change formed from seeds of consciousness, and are also not substantially existent, though they are somewhat more real than time. Material dharmas are all dharmas formed from the four great seeds, and likewise are not substantially existent, only a bit more real than time. Mental dharmas and material dharmas are both illusory dharmas, and the time displayed by their conjunction is an even more illusory dharma.
If someone wishes to live longer, it is not that time is stretched out, but that the process of operation of their own form body and five aggregates (pañcaskandha) is lengthened. When some people live a short time, it is not that time is shortened, but that the process of operation of the five-aggregate body is short; there is no such mark or dharma as time. Some people like to make schedules; in fact these are not "time tables," not arrangements of time, but flow charts for handling people, affairs, and things—arrangements of the processes involving people, affairs, and things. If the mark of time no longer existed in one's life, how many fetters could the mind be liberated from? Because of the notion of time in the past, how many constraints did we impose on ourselves? How many attachments did we add?
Consider a dream—a great dream, a long dream. In the dream one lives a whole lifetime, living through several kalpas, with all the sweetness and bitterness, the sorrows and joys of parting and reunion, the upheavals and displacements. Upon waking, one discovers it was merely a dream: nothing happened, no one appeared, nothing was gained or lost, and oneself is safe and sound. In the dream there were no people, affairs, or things, and no time; everything was illusory, and upon waking one is liberated from the dream. Likewise, all sentient beings are displaced and suffering within the great dream of birth and death. This great dream of birth and death is the same as the dream one has at night: there are no real people, affairs, or things, no time and no space—there is nothing at all; it is illusory. Upon waking, one discovers that one has, after all, nothing gained and nothing lost, no attachments and no obstructions, entirely free of concerns. At that point there is great liberation and the ultimate attainment of buddhahood. When one wakes from the great dream of birth and death, one finds that sentient beings' attainment of buddhahood occurs in but a single instant; there is no time span of three great asaṃkhyeya kalpas. All our efforts are for the sake of waking from the dream—so let us dream no more.
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