The Mystery
All beyond my present moment is logically uncertain, even my most vivid memories; and my identity itself is mutable and often, if not always, arbitrary. And yet, as I filter all material remains of life I've known in 37 1/2 years, everything seems so surely to fit together. Everything I imagine myself to have been is part of me, here and now. The connections rise and fall beneath the tenuous surface of consciousness.
I think I'm essentially one, and all these pieces fit into it-- but far, far more beyond; perhaps all that is, and it's all too subtle for our conventional outlines of identity. Too subtle even for the Buddha's assertion of no self. (Not that I can blame mystics for the limitations of language.) There are real connections, there is real identity--self-- here, now, with my Gregs that have been. It's just too easy to blow that out of due proportion... and at the same time, all too easy to forget precious things. And yet they remain.
I got rid of an old suit that no longer fits me. This is what I found in the pockets:
According to Melisa, I stuck that Pulp Fiction soundtrack booklet in the pocket at our dear friend Amanda's wedding a few years ago. I only vaguely began to remember this incident after she told me; but that was a beautiful night. I remember some aspects of that 1999 concert more clearly. Andre Watts played for Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5, which has been my favorite piece of music in some ways for many years. I know I was there, so long 'ago.' Some of who I am, right now, was there.
Perhaps my main goal in life will be to define "there" a little better, for some of us, than others have done. If so, I'm a long way from it; but the journey's more rewarding than anything I used to dream.
I'm moving tomorrow. Hopefully, visiting a very dear old friend enroute to Savannah. For now, I feel so tender towards all I've known in Southern Illinois. I've even made some good friends here, finally, almost on the point of departure. Some of us had a little going away gathering at Panera Bread on Saturday:
That's Devin, Kyle and Maria. They're all a lot younger than me, but that's usually the case. They're great.
I've had amazing times and many big, meaningful changes in the (almost) year that I've lived in this humble room at 611 E. Park, Carbondale. I'm genuinely fond of the place. What I'll miss most about Southern Illinois, though, is what's deepest within me-- the home I had so long, in Johnston City. This is practically my last view of it, during my last visit:
And that's my oldest cat Mary in the window. She'll be three this year. She's the first close animal friend I've had in many years, and as such, she is something of a touchstone to the far distant past that I've revisited this week. But she is especially connected, naturally, to more recent trials and transitions. She's quite unique.
But what I'll miss most about my old home, if I'm strong enough to mostly remember, is Melisa. I always love you, honeybee. :)
Someday, I think, this will all be much clearer-- and if that leads to further mystery, I think it will prove ever greater.