Easy for me to think that the past is back there, frozen, both in time, somehow, and geography. I don't go near my indiscretions, physically, that is, for fear that somehow I'll find myself there, stuck in some endless loop, and the only true solution to such a mercurial discovery would be both murder and suicide. I'd have to kill that version of me, thereby committing a kind of suicide.
Which is intrinsically sad, no? Thinking not of suicide, but that the past is somehow frozen back there, and that the place and people inhabiting that place are also locked in--that is: locked into your egocentric perambulations of shame! Because so long as "you" left the past, then, well, that past can't possibly move about, grow, change, frolic, or even whither up and die on its own, even without your overwhelming urge to go and kill it! It might already be dead without your constant semi-nostalgic-semi-religious treatment of it all these years.
So I do have a few words that are not designed for the faint of heart.
And they hurt. But once the hurt dissipates, there is an ultimate freedom in smallness and regularity, and a spirit in the everyday that can actually overcome wildly dramatic fits and starts to one's life. So let's try to live small for a bit.
No comments:
Post a Comment