“A penny saved is a penny earned.”
“You’ve got to spend money to make money.”
Below the fold… I haven’t posted much lately. No particular reason. Maybe because at some deep level I know that fewer people are reading me now than have ever read me since I began keeping an online diary. I just have fewer friends and interested parties than I used to.
In general, it’s hard these days to figure out precisely how I ended up where I am right now, or indeed where I am right now, period. It’s just not clear. There has been some sort of sea change. It pivoted around and through my time at the University of Chicago, but I don’t know what shape it took or how it looks yet — I can’t yet see the forest for the trees.
I need distance and perspective.
Right now there are simply far too many trees and I have been far too upset and indignant to figure anything out. Last night in an argument with my father it was again suggested that I ought simply to join a Buddhist monastery and keep a garden, far, far away from anywhere (especially here).
It was meant to be an accusation — that I am petulant and immature and make false “moral” complications for myself in order to obscure my latent laziness and fear of life. Maybe some of that is true, I don’t know… but I also know that the premise is flawed… Because I don’t see the monks in the monasteries anywhere as petulant, immature, afraid, or lazy. I admire them immensely and feel that as a group they are a thousand times more justified in their existence than is our American politburo and its “luminaries,” much less its greedy and sheep-like “citizens.”
I suppose spring is here. At the end of last summer I was so immensely broken that I wanted nothing more than to return to wintertime and gestate in it, baby in womb. Somehow, though, it’s all passed me by — somehow there has been a winter, and I hardly noticed it at all.
And the brokenness remains… only now it is tempered, changed, evolved into something else. Don’t know what yet. I’m more comfortable with it. Maybe it was the last remnants of youth leaving. Maybe it was the last remnants of sanity and social responsibility, I don’t know.
My situation now is infinitely more precarious than it was at the end of last summer, only now I don’t care. And gone is the certainty — held all too briefly, perhaps from 2002-2005 — of my place in the order of things. I feel as though I’ve realized that I’d been on the wrong road, and have now left it, and am left for the moment to wander through meadows and chaparral in search of another one, wherever I find it.
I can say this for certain: I am tired of small-mindedness, greed, rationalization, westernism, self-absorption and “individuality” (which for me has become something of a four-letter word). As my father raised his arms and voice to stir the flock of Mao’s sins into a frenzy around us, I couldn’t help but think of the feats, such as they are, that have been accomplished historically by the leaders of China and the Soviet Union.
A harsh morality and an ordered world are painful, perhaps. But no more painful than the morality-of-self or the world of the inescapable open market. Pick your poison.
Or on second thought, I may just pick it for you, if I’m able, lest you do the same for me.
Let me feel the wind and know, deep, that it is all I — or you — need.