That’s how my mind runs nowadays. The past tense. As in, “She was a creative person,” or “She had such initiative.” Third person references. Divorced from actuality. Passive extremus.
What a struggle it is.
Passivity itself plunges me into these thoughts. Poverty. The vacant image of tomorrow, next week, next year.
My friend tells me I am a phoenix, constantly reinventing myself. She says these things not out of admiration but as a seed, the start of an impulse, words to buoy my bleak spirits.
The fact is that every enterprise, each career turn, all my ventures have come to naught.
My friend tells me I am in the Saturn return passage, that it’s tough; it will kick my butt. I know vagaries about the moon and planets. But I know the feeling of the eternal return. The never-going, spinning-in-place.
Because it is circular, I cannot find a starting point, cannot spot the trajectory of decline.
Because I accept reality, I cannot regret. There is the bitter rue. Acknowledging the screw-ups. Now though (notice how these statements are conditioned), there is only a wisp of anger. That sharp edge is sanded down to particles, too elusive and totally meaningless.
I look at my face in the mirror and wonder. I look at my face and I know.
This is Time I see.