The day the blame game stopped. You wake up one day and find a foolish old man has taken your place. The worn out shell of the remainder of what you thought you still had in you. Something tired and pathetic and uninteresting. That face staring back at you from the mirrored surface a drifting wrinkled mass of sagging flesh. Who’s fault? You are out of your own time and out of step. But consider that eery older slower fish in the aquarium tank sooner or later rises to the occasion and goes belly up. There is no blame and the world is not unfair. You’re just past your wear date!
The funny thing is that the kid within is eternal with no sign of wearing out. At least until the flesh of the conveyance from without makes life so unbearable that there is no other choice left. The struggle up the ladder of life struggling ever upward to the unrealized goal of a pinnacle ever unseen providing only the opportunity to fall to one’s demise from an even more vainglorious height. Would one in contrast seek to plumb the cave of my own doubts? To explore my own depths and then seek that classic ‘lectisternium‘ for their own wanderings so far below? Passing through many towns that leave their couches well-bedecked in the streets. But then take your head of straw from these stations to dump it off a bridge. That mortal beggar’s cloth, a perennial traveler, ‘ein Bettler oder ein Kaiser‘? Observing the rules of guest and host posed to those that might too soon tempt the fate of Sisyphus? No unknown stranger at my own beck and call to intercede upon my own behalf seeking even more beneficence of mortal man or enforcing the rules.
Always put in my place by steely circumstance, I suppose that even I would have tricked own my celestial host’s offer of artful chains so that no one earthly died from that point on? Yet those that subtend heaven and earth would have made my existence a living Hell! Lest I returned to release him with the gift of my own humble key. Be not too artful to feign death as naked someone unfairly bestowed to the market’s lowly street in memories’ death by one’s former love! The best of one’s efforts being an enchanted task. Something that one will forever find at that same earthly mooring once again each morning at the foot of that same mortal ladder.