Spirit?

In my unremarkable corner of the world I’m thinking what’s really going on?

Whilst it’s been widely publicised that humanity has reached the tipping point in favour of the Age of Aquarius and today is the newly-inaugurated NATIONAL HOLIDAY TO COMMERATE LETTING GO OF THE PAST COMPLETELY: all that my cynical brain can come up with in response to both those claims is a rather pathetic “Really”.

As in “Really you don’t say…”

I pride myself on being able to digest the 5 a day fruits and vegetables equivalent of New Age mumbo jumbo spiritual advice which lands on me in a heap every time I turn the pages of “The Secret”, but does letting go of the past really include not caring that I didn’t put my rubbish out on the right day at the right time as dictated by British Government diktat.

In case you’re foreign and unaware: here in the UK, parking your garbage bags at home carries a heavy financial penalty. It’s 40 pounds for a first offence, rising exponentially week on week.

So glad I studied Russian language (and Russian culture since the Tsars’ time) for my university degree in modern languages and international relations, otherwise, I wouldn’t have a fucking clue about what’s going on in so-called modern Britain (as ruled by the Conservative-Liberal Democratic alliance for mutually destructive twits).

(Sorry am I starting to rant?)

To mark the occasion of “letting go of the past completely”, I do hereby stop regretting each and every moment that I’ve been dishonest and fucked somebody simply for the pleasure of driving the proverbial knife into the heart valve of my partner.

 Forgive me: I know not what I do….

On a clear day when the sun is high in the sky and the heavens are cloudless, I regret nothing but my ‘unpleasant sweetness’.

Grief and Beautiful

My problem was I had too much beautiful.

Too beautiful, too fulfilled, lived in beauty, raised in beauty, and was too self-satisfied to make any kind of real sacrifice.

I was too beautifully fulfilled to bother with anything of substance beyond hollow praise and easy come, easy go positive self-reinforcement.

I thought I had it all.

It’s dark and I’m searching for my wine bottle.

Who am I hiding from?

Is the denial of grief like a ship docked on dry land for too many days?

Am I afraid that grief is such a deep well that if I look into that well, I will falter?

Am I alone at this depth?

Joan Didion on Her New Memoir ‘Blue Nights’ — New York Magazine.