Now my birthday has come and it has gone, as has New Years again of course, and I find myself being introspective. More so than I have ever been before, not that I often introspect. I shall ramble, it is what I am good at, it, at least, is something.
One year more gone, one year less to live. It is like a map or a birds eye view. One can look upon it and see the path, can see the forks the dips and the resting places. The forks taken and those left unvisited, they can be seen from here, but only to the edge of the map, to the edge of bird-sight, beyond that lies the mystery. I am not tempted by the mystery, I am confident in my path, what is before me is as yet a mystery, no need to attempt to visit the past. The steam from my tea dances it's spiral dance, entrancing me. There must be a draft.
A year ago I was here, where I am now, well a little more than a year ago let's say. I think I was happier then, or about to be. Where am I now? Have I not moved? For all that has happened I wound up here again, a little worse for wear. Same job, that was a circuitous pathway indeed. Less money, by which we don't want to but always end up judging our success. Memories, more of them, as to be expected after a year, but what of their quality? Does it matter? Some are wonderful, some euphoric, some are easily forgetten except for the digital images ratained here on my laptop, some are painful to recall. Some of the euphoric ones are painful to recall, like the dentists needle penetrating the gums, slowly freezing, that pain which I like and hate at once. What do they do for us, our memories? Beyond the basic instructive instinctual use for our survival, fire = hot = hurt = bad. That is the knowledge gained and reminded by our memory of the lesson. What lessons did I learn? No more steam, it is cool enough to drink now, bitter and good.
Lessons learned in the past, if learned again, were they ever learned at all? Or would Malcom describe microscopic variations in the pattern that lead to chaos, and thus inherent unpredictability? Would it not then render all lessons pointless? Or do we then approach odds and scales of judgement, contrived values based on emotion, all of this philosophical mathematics. I have bad odds, if I were my mother I would not even bet on me. Oh thank goodness that we believe in God, though I may have him to thank for the state of my odds as well. Balance I guess. You have to believe in Him because you believe in Him. I learned my lesson again, maybe well this time.
Step forward, three feet at once, hut! Grim resolve. Echoing chamber, a mile below a bass drum, shut up! Die. Crack that whip and hoist that sail, tie that gib and swab that deck. Bearing.... neverwhere... The rum never lasts. Act III, the paint begins to weigh heavy, breathed air stale, the obi is too tight, studied control. Where do I go from here, how do I get there? Public transit doesn't acknowledge my pass, nothing to it but to hoof it, on my own...
Labels: Introspection, random