Two more days left in this year. In a manner of speaking it could be said that a year has been compressed down into a day. In another sense of same I could also say that my experience of life has gone through yet another kind of transformation. In the popular sense we are all poked and prodded about our existence by the word, ‘change’. That infers a state of being that is in restless inertial motion. But ‘transformation’, means that you have arrived. Arrived to a conclusion that something is indeed different. A successful passage. In my own case it is a temporal shelter from the lifelong sense of angst. A year plus of being by my lonesome has done wonders. Having to live with the restless monster within and watching him wind down to find out just how little important he really is to everyone else has a strange quality of freedom to it. Odd as it seems I am suddenly struck with how much I had loved my long ago wife without a sense of immediate recrimination for our overlap of follies. I must admits this was due to a combination of happenstance in which a youthful surrogate of two people of similar demeanor’s upon the stage of the Internet recall the behaviors down to the relative verbosity and the respective lack of it. It showed me something that I have lacked since that time nearly half an adult lifetime ago. How it felt to be loved by someone else.
My boiler has been cold since that time. Sure my restless animal made its long and tediously terrible journey both before and after through the wasteland of the lack that I found in others and of course within myself. I entered into a life as a result that I never would have known had I not encountered the great disappointment of myself and tried to overcome it. It has taken a quarter century to arrive here. In so many ways like an inmate having been set back out in society on parole. I can only hope the selfishness and meanness that I held within my heart is now past. For whatever this assembly of man and womankind has spun I cannot say that it has destroyed me as someone who is incapable of having those feelings. Of saying I’m sorry for never voicing them within that long cold interim of betwixt and between. And even if it did not work in a way that I believe that both my wife and I truly would have wanted it we can both excuse where the fate behind our respective personalities have left us. I would not want her to think I ever really hated her. And let her know that I can only say that I am sorry for the lack of those qualities that led me to a bitter decision to call it a day.
If human existence is some strange boarding school for errant souls of unimaginable entities where we all must in our own way suffer lessons that refuse to be ignored until they are thoroughly learned then despite everything that might have been so much better I am content. So the penitent is somewhere between a recidivise’d ex-con and a master’s student hoping for his doctorate. At least that I would hope? For the lessons will go on. Endlessly I hope. For if that is the incomplete but positive answer to life’s big question of, “Why“, then at least their is a definable purpose to it. Something to wake up to in the morning beyond the sag and wrinkles of the exterior of quickly fading fiction of youth. It would appear the person inside cannot ever be considered old so much as tired and defeated at times. Perhaps then, physical death in this material world is simply a time out to reconsider and perhaps take the next step to something else wherever and whatever that may mysteriously be. I can only say that as a traveler so ignorant of the light switch that I may find connection with those that I have scraped up against in this stretch of enigmatic time. As far as I am concerned I am still here and no one can permanently hurt me. And that is a lot in just being able to say that alone.