I look out into the water and up deep into the stars. I beg the sparkling lanterns of light to cure me of myself – my past and the kaleidoscope of mistakes, failures and wrong turns that have stacked unbearable regret upon my shoulders.
Nothing is but what is now
Gone are the days when success depends on how you use your muscle tissues. In this 21st century, your brain cells must work more than your muscle tissues!
No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us…a difficult moment when you are out of practice – a moment that makes you go cold, cold and wary.
It was strange how the future seemed tied inseparably to the past, so that both revolved through the present, like a great wheel…
She’d cried over a broken heart before. She knew what that felt like, and it didn’t feel like this. Her heart felt not so much broken as just … empty. It felt like she was an outline empty in the middle. The outline cried senselessly for the absent middle. The past cried for the present that was nothing.
It was as if she would never be whole until the secrets of the past were exposed.
There had been a time in Godfrey’s life when, had she stood before him in all her splendor, he would have turned from her, because of her history, with a sad disgust. Was he less pure now? He was more pure, for he was humbler.
Our experiences are the building blocks of the future hewn out of the granite of the present.
You do not even think of your own past as quite real; you dress it up, you gild it or blacken it, censor it, tinker with it…fictionalize it, in a word, and put it away on a shelf – your book, your romanced autobiography. We are all in the flight from the real reality. That is the basic definition of Homo sapiens.