Just killing time today, in the hope that tomorrow will produce the next big thing. There are daffodils on all the tables. How marvelous. Why, Spring must be here. Or at least just around the corner. So we’ll take some time to make some sense, and then throw caution to the wind. For a little while anyway. Find a way to change it all, and won’t it be glorious when we can just let it all go? I’m gonna see if it changes anything. Or if it changes everything. Find a hole, and fill it. Spend all my time filling holes, then digging them out again. If only to keep on doing something. Keep on moving, even slowly. I was never one for standing still. The world goes too slowly by like that. Better to get it all out in one mad rush. Run just as fast as you can. But it doesn’t feel like we’re going all that fast. ‘Oh but we are’ she says to me. Million miles an hour, only to feel stationary.
Woops.
Relativity. What a bastard. I’m moving a million miles an hour, but so’s the ground I’m standing on. So much for the illusion of speed. I had a great idea about that once, then it turned out to be not that cool in the end. Don’t you just hate it when that happens? How easy it is to make mistakes. Too easy. And easy to not learn from them as well. That’s just sort of the way it goes. We blinker ourselves. Operate with a selective memory. Call it willful amnesia. This moment is the first moment of a new awakening. No, this moment is the beginning of that awakening. No, this moment…
Make me a wish on a velvet sky and yesterday was my favourite of all possible days, except it no longer exists. Maybe it never existed. Maybe the fragment of it lodged in my mind is all there is left. Or maybe yesterday exists in six billion different manners. Six billion fragments that each claim to be the true yesterday. Yeah, good luck sorting that mess out. Those multiple universes trail back behind us, ever seeking the source. We’re not closing down those untrodden paths with every step we take, we’re opening up the divergence of our memories of experience. My experience and yours, two separate physical things. Wrap ‘em up in bubble wrap and put them carefully away in a box marked ‘later.’
And then someday we'll stumble across that box, pull it out of the attic, brush the dust off and carry it downstairs. Then, one by one, we’ll decide if each piece inside is worth hanging on to. Maybe yours are, mine aren’t. Or the other way around. My goodness but how sad to have nothing left of yesterday but a memory. And even that fades with time. All we have to make up ourselves, our selves, is a cluster of memories that even now begin to dissipate, like smoke on the wind. Like I’m watching myself, a smoke signal rising into a clear blue sky. I used to be whole, then I forgot that little piece of me. I forgot it! How inconvenient is that? And like that, a little piece of me vanished, poof!, into thin air. Time to change identities. Mold a new piece to patch over the old. Got to keep the semblance at least of being whole. If only so that nobody realizes how different we are. No no, we’re all exactly the same. Why, just look at my human shaped collection of moments and discoveries and clung-to sentiments. Then I got a haircut.
Everything changes.
