Have the seasons started slipping away at increased speed, or is it that my attention is not what it used to be? And while that thought whirls about the cosmos of my mind, I wonder whether it is being resolute in my tenets, or just stubborn and bound by the ignorance of my own myth making? Forever fermenting upon stalled ambitions while wondering why such listlessness consumes my being.

Wishing a life away waiting for something to happen.

In my current consumption of a bout of literature called now a classic, there are lines that leap from pulp leaf that have been ringing about in my head since they had gotten themselves read. Told by a character that I wish I was more like, to the ears of another that is more similar to my current state than I might like to admit. And so, Samuel empathetically lectured-

‘Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, think about it. Maybe you’re playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience.’

So, think about it, I have.

And while answers in the exact have not quite found me, the impending autumnal phase of this celestial spin provokes the desire to reject personal atrophy. Might be that shedding or shearing is needed for some future promise of growth. Ideas of such rebirth might very well be the center of the contemporary struggle. But this business of starting again, of spurring something anew from ashes, is exceptionally exhausting. A being this is not my initial rodeo in that sort of affair, the energy and impetus for velocity enough to defy the laws of metaphysics grow weighted in each attempt. Each rebuild begs the question- how many times can over again be gotten at?

And as that storm bellows below and above my consciousness, two words appear, stolen from the same literary paragon as the featured players of this certain scene analyze part of a well-known ancient tome. Regarding what the descendants of the original damned can do about breaking the curse of sin-

‘Thou mayest’.

No must or will ascend or fall- but they may. They might.

So often choice can be a paralytic, particularly when it caught between desire, perhaps greatly diluted, and the pragmatic paths that become fewer with each step towards the future. Denial or acceptance, although, dichotomy isn’t really a truth to choosing. But options of third, fourth and so on are often eluding. And duality is so easily accepted whether actual or not. Yet, I have been around enough to know that answers, however fleeting or feeble, are rarely as simple as just yes, or no. Nuance and context shade all the we perceive before we even begin to consider emotional impact both inward and outward. And the natural chaos and order associated with this apple whirling silently through space will always have their say, no invitation required. Sometimes they don’t even knock upon the door.

And while backwards is no option, the branches forward are still more than a human mind might be able to comprehend, if no outlet might appear. Each decision stems to the appearance of countless others, all of which grow from some origin to face complex crossroads outward. Even the absence of choice, a decision in and of itself, is a point from which a series of somethings and otherwises might arise. And even from the limited timeline of any particular edition of a human being, each personal action can then grow in the stories of others, each with choices in abundance of their own. Even something small or simply said might find its way to profundity in the pondering and protruding deeds of others. Be that for benevolence or something more vile and base- words said or unsaid, actions taken or avoided, the impact passes from life to life, and age to age whether we can conceive of it or not.

My own sins, numerous enough- a lifetime of good might barely break me even. But I do intend to blacken the ledger of life as best I can. Or at least undo the red. Tough enough thing, considering all the new faults and failures that every future turned present, and then past, has found I thus far. But to make no attempt at rectification or borderline benevolence would be worse than failure after failure, after failure.

There is much I wish to say, to be, still, with this little life of mine that is statistically getting towards half spent. And of all that I hold in ignorance, I cannot escape the fact that eventually, something gets left out. That’s just the way it goes. And at moments, I believe I hold the knowledge of the sort of things that this existence of mine must be forced to exclude. Be it by unavoidable choice, or some selected fate- everything cannot be held. Some of it, not even for the slightest moment.

And yet, dear reader, let us choose still to go forward as long as we might. And, me thinks, the harder the fight, the more important it is likely to be. If not for victory, at least as some knowledge gained that cannot be unlearned.