only by fixing or transforming a bit of time into place�" ("The Brown Wasps")
I have agreed with this sentiment ever since I first read it-it was simple, considering all the images of my future I have dwelt in over the course of my life (though in my past they were more often located in parallel worlds of magic than in the future). But rereading it now, three months later, my mind pauses and freezes on the word "survive." Recently, the use of this word has disagreed with me.
Survive: to remain in existence.
Survive: an insipid goal,
a lackluster aspiration.
So often people use the word when there is no question of their survival, just a question of their happiness, their peace of mind. These two, survival and peace of mind, are arguably the same thing, at least over a protracted period of time. Constantly downhearted, one does not truly live, does not live the way she's meant to.
But although my overuse of "survive" has come to disgust me recently, I shall take it as proper and accurate in this situation. I understand placing one's life into moments of their memory-in my case, usually life into the memory of my daydreams. It is a place entered by others only with permission, static or fluid as it is wished. Impossible to be contaminated and therefore utterly safe. That thought can keep you going-not that you couldn't physically, couldn't literally keep going, maybe, but keeps a sense of optimism, of peace in the back of your mind.
Yet even with this time-into-place, one will not necessarily "survive." Though safe from outsiders, these havens can succumb to inner forces. Doubts can unravel the barriers standing around you-your head cannot always remain free and clear.
Nothing is perfect, at least not for long. The moments can be a casual support in easier times and a final lifeline when there is nothing else to look to. They are definitely worth having, but when they fail, what does one do? For that day, or that night of bleakness and despair, you often have nothing-and if you do it can be seem remote in the immediate circumstance to do you any good. What then?
"But what after all is one night? A short space, especially when the
darkness dims so soon a bird sings, a cock crows, or a faint green quickens, like a turning
leaf, in the hollow of the wave." (To The Lighthouse)
It can't last forever, it's only for a time, and life goes on. The next day, something unspeakably heartening could occur. The possibility is there, but don't look too hard for it. Don't plan perfection, because then you're likely to meet disappointment again. Perfection occurs in chance, brief moments of sudden joy, sometimes epiphany.
And there will still be more nights of intrinsic loneliness.
"Night, however, succeeds to night." (To The Lighthouse)
This is no cause for alarm; instead, one must accept that such times will come and bear with them. Don't look for them, don't' cause them, and above all else, don't fear them.
Don't worry about the future, don't spend too much time trying to rewrite the past-it's impossible. Just keep past and future in mind as you simply live your life.
Misc. Writing