You would not believe the busy nature of our lives, now. We think we've located a house we agree on and within our budget. And the preapproval process continues while we work the other avenues.
There is so much to think about, so much to be done. And I can only do very little about it - let's just say that my personal affairs were ravaged in the last go-round and the recovery from same is...unlikely. It is, at least, highly improbable. And I have learned that a person actually can live without what others think necessities. Still, I worry about its impact, later. Post-marriage, post-house, etc.
It feels, sometimes, as though I am constantly shuffling along with this burden dragging behind, and sometimes it feels like a beast that is happy to ravage whomever gets close enough. For many years I chose to not let anyone too close for the very reason. If anyone was to be hurt, it would only be me. But it was a heartless life. And one bound to see me dead.
So, I reached beyond that and found...light. Life. Simplicity. Bliss, perhaps. I was maybe 22 when I first saw Joseph Campbell on PBS and his words of philosophy and myth told me truths that I already knew. Hell, I knew most of the myths already, being a student of same, but...I remembered for a long time his words, "...follow your bliss...". Of course, I misjudged often what I thought was bliss. But I think I know it now - that sense of calm security.
I have lived a life full of chaos and uncertainty, darkness and threats, secrets and sins. You cannot imagine the sense of freedom acquired from mere lack of worry. There are times I am drunk with it. Those papers signed and filed, that folder closed forever, those stories relegated to the past....of course, I do sometimes fret about that 'i' that wasn't dotted but if it comes - that other shoe dropping from the aether - I shall just have to deal with it there and then.
But there is still...detritus. Letters in clear block print, madness in 1's and 0's, definite condemnations in neat and orderly binders. History, I guess, and I do not let it go. And all of it so very Discoverable.
And I wonder sometimes, if he asked me to, would I toss it on a pyre? I don't know. I honestly don't know. Because for me, the words are...physical. Not just ephemera...I still have, somewhere in a box, a paper from a lit class that received great praise. I knew, even as it was handed to me, that it was as far as it would go. I had more pressing things to consider at the time but I took pride in it, that small academic accomplishment. So much so that it remains with me, today.
I guess it is that lack of academic achievement that makes it so precious to me. Others have their...oh, their own detritus, yes - framed. With embossed gold stars. And I think they haven't half the pride in them as I do in those 3 folded looseleaf pages, soft with age. They held promise of a dream, someday, to be fulfilled. If I could only manage to survive till then.
But it's Then, Now. And I've not fulfilled it, no. The dream remains soft and dusty. But it rustles, I tell you, in its box. It lets me know, now and then, that it is no ghost. And it will have its life, too. Patient, yes. Patient as death. But insistent. I think I shall give it more ear soon.