A Blank
What a loathsome time of year. Day after day of frozen immobility; the sun glaring on dirty white drifts like a flashlight on old bones.
And I - I really couldn’t feel any lower. Cold and dead, that’s the state of me right now.
It’s hard not to imagine, sometimes, that the universe is conspiring. Around my birthday last May, I went to see a tarot and palm reader. He told me things were going to suck, in a low-grade but continuous way, until spring at least. The sucky part was that I would have nothing meaningful to do or think or be. No great thoughts or deeds, no radical decisions, just a long, tedious string of same-same.
Augurs are useless at ebb tide. We predict a great expanse of nothing.
How ironic that at this time when things, extrinsically, couldn’t be more low-key, I should feel so turbulent. Buddha laughs behind his hand. I make a poor mule. It’s easy to move if bullets are being fired straight at you. But it is very hard indeed to sit and be peaceful and not imagine that the silent hourglass is again a few grains from needing to be turned.
And I - I really couldn’t feel any lower. Cold and dead, that’s the state of me right now.
It’s hard not to imagine, sometimes, that the universe is conspiring. Around my birthday last May, I went to see a tarot and palm reader. He told me things were going to suck, in a low-grade but continuous way, until spring at least. The sucky part was that I would have nothing meaningful to do or think or be. No great thoughts or deeds, no radical decisions, just a long, tedious string of same-same.
Augurs are useless at ebb tide. We predict a great expanse of nothing.
How ironic that at this time when things, extrinsically, couldn’t be more low-key, I should feel so turbulent. Buddha laughs behind his hand. I make a poor mule. It’s easy to move if bullets are being fired straight at you. But it is very hard indeed to sit and be peaceful and not imagine that the silent hourglass is again a few grains from needing to be turned.
posted by Allison at 12:21 PM
2 Comments:
"He who does not at some time, with definite determination consent to the terribleness of life, or even exalt in it, never takes possession of the inexpressible fullness of the power of our existence."
-Selected Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke
(filobloomz)
Exactly.
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