Past, Future, and the Dreaming Moment Between
Einstein once said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that those who are happy are too busy living in the present to concern themselves with the past or the future. It's somewhat frightening to think about how much time I fail to spend just being in the present, and a bit disturbing when I consider the sorts of things I'm doing when I'm living in said present. The other day I threw a lot of things away. Things I'd had for a very long time. I'd kept these things not out of any true sentimentality, any real persistent emotional attachment to the items in question. I'd kept these things simply because I was too lazy to ever throw them away. Moving was always just dumping everything around into boxes and transporting them, with no real concern as to what was necessary and what was just fluff. As I scrolled through these memories in an effort to rid myself of their harsh accusations and maddening criticisms, letter by letter, artifact by artifact, each object reclaimed the strength of its associations, and I found myself bewildered by the lies I've created to carry myself through my bizarre patterns of inaction and ineptitude. I wonder how I've managed to swindle so many people over the course of my years, how I've managed to portray myself as the image of something I'm not. I consider how many see everything I put forward as a sad ruse, yet have not had the courage to call the truth to my attention. Then I consider the verbs of my behavioral repertoire, and it becomes very clear that "consider," "wonder," and "ponder" don't even come close to being something that it takes courage to confront. Nay, the truth must be that everyone allows me to continue this ruse because to confront it would require some degree of respect, something I've certainly yet to earn from anyone. So yeah, I threw some things away and I some of what I found confirmed that I am a fucking liar, a swindler, a good for nothing who will say whatever he must to make his words comply with the false, transient emotions that dictate his interactions. Keeping them hasn't helped me to remember that and to choose a different path. So I eliminate the reminder. Maybe this time, when I pull down the dark veil, I won't ever take it off again. Maybe this time, I won't have anything to remind me of the fool, the devil, the contemptible nave that I once was and ever shall be. But then again, maybe this time I won't have anything to pull me into the desperation of the past or the uncertainty of the future.