Life happens always and only in the past.
Days come and go, but they are never “life.” They are details and rushing; they are tasks and process.
Only when today has become yesterday is it (was it) life, after all.
— § —
I have never believed anyone who said that they have no regrets.
Life is nothing without regret.
If there is or ever was anyone that lives or has lived without regrets, I pity them. I wish them many regrets in the future, to the extent that they are able still to have them. Many wonderful, terrible, heart-rending regrets.
To die without regrets? What sort of a life is that?
— § —
We’ve had snow this week.
Snow changes things. Somewhere in the annals of physics, a long-forgotten author has published on the way in which the particular characteristics of the atoms in the water molecule, at a particular energy level, stop time entirely, catch time out of time.
Every period during which snow covers the ground is a period during which being stops and turns inward on itself.
That’s the secret and hidden nature of the holiday season, the one that I missed when I was living in places where there was no snow: the relentless march of time continued year-round when instead it ought to have paused.
Winter and its snow grant to its children a halting of the accumulation of life.
During this time, while life itself is frozen, it is possible to make a few notes, to take a few measures, and to understand what must be done next.
Without snow, one is quickly overwhelmed by time; it takes only a year or two to find that one is being carried along by the endless current with what feels like little hope of escape.
Experience tells me that there is only one way out: to go somewhere else and wait for snow.
— § —
Every now and then I think that my “blog” (which was never meant to be one in the first place) is and has always been the most pointless, most pretentious exercise in my life.
But every time I stop, I start again, even with no time, no audience, and (I claim) no interest in continuing.
It must be here for a reason.