So I was adrift. Waking in the morning, feeling good for an hour or two after coffee, washing, shaving, working, coming home and watching the clock, waiting for the time to come when I could return to the temporary oblivion of sleep. Whiskey helps.
There were times, often, when I weighed the options: do something, do nothing, don't choose. I could not think of any reason for this ennui other than the usual reason for ennui: I stopped doing, then wanting, then being. There were moments when I saw some hope, when I heard a song that took me away, when I was at church, when the morning and the coffee and the sky and the birds all sang in me but these were moments without substance, I could not see that they were the unasked for blessings that abound for those in tune. Again, I don't know why I forget what I sometimes have known, why I forget entirely what it is that tunes me.
While forgetting is the cause of my having gone astray it is not the first cause; it is a passive symptom of my own personal original sin: knowing what makes me happy and what makes me sad and choosing the latter. (I am working on a theory of individualized original sin for those who believe in God and such things. A perfect God could have made perfect beings but decided not to. If He/She has gone to this much trouble to make imperfection, perfection being the norm, then it seems reasonable to assume that He/She has made many different types of imperfection, hence a variety of original sins. But I haven't really thought this out yet and besides this has gotten far too heady and off the topic for me.)
Empirical evidence: most mornings when I woke up and for most of the day, often till the end of work when I was driving home I was resolved not to drink booze, then various discomforts psychic and physical convinced me that what I needed was a dose of medicine: Jameson 12 year old is very fine medicine indeed and whatever wrinkles remained could be smoothed out with a bottle or two of Guinness extra stout and for good measure, as well as to secure sleep, some red wine, then sleep, repeat.
Looking at what I've written it is clear that even the most obtuse observer would be able to formulate a preliminary diagnosis for my ennui saying, "Well that's not a good way to live, maybe that's your problem." or such like. And in truth, I often thought to say such myself but the allure of oblivion was strong in me which sounds like what was said of Luke Skywalker, the force being strong in him but my gift was unlikely to help me defeat the evil empire and besides I didn't have the energy.
The evil empire: Having grown up in the sixties, I was born in 49, I knew all about the evil empire that scooped up people my age, disproportionately black, and sent them to kill Asians in rice patties. I took to the streets, to guerrilla theatre, to sit ins, to teach ins, to rage against the machine, which is now a band that won't let the Republicans play their music. I had a cause and a purpose, we had a cause and a purpose but it went terribly wrong, ultimately sex, drugs, and rock and roll no matter how delightful were not enough. We lost our way and those who believed that ass-kissing obeisance was the righteous rite of passage until they too rose to become the ass that was kissed eventually took over, i.e. Karl Rove et.al.
So I knew what to fight but was too lazy to do the heavy lifting. How this all came about and how I eventually returned to the fray will have to wait for another day as this is as long as I would like it to be today.
There were times, often, when I weighed the options: do something, do nothing, don't choose. I could not think of any reason for this ennui other than the usual reason for ennui: I stopped doing, then wanting, then being. There were moments when I saw some hope, when I heard a song that took me away, when I was at church, when the morning and the coffee and the sky and the birds all sang in me but these were moments without substance, I could not see that they were the unasked for blessings that abound for those in tune. Again, I don't know why I forget what I sometimes have known, why I forget entirely what it is that tunes me.
While forgetting is the cause of my having gone astray it is not the first cause; it is a passive symptom of my own personal original sin: knowing what makes me happy and what makes me sad and choosing the latter. (I am working on a theory of individualized original sin for those who believe in God and such things. A perfect God could have made perfect beings but decided not to. If He/She has gone to this much trouble to make imperfection, perfection being the norm, then it seems reasonable to assume that He/She has made many different types of imperfection, hence a variety of original sins. But I haven't really thought this out yet and besides this has gotten far too heady and off the topic for me.)
Empirical evidence: most mornings when I woke up and for most of the day, often till the end of work when I was driving home I was resolved not to drink booze, then various discomforts psychic and physical convinced me that what I needed was a dose of medicine: Jameson 12 year old is very fine medicine indeed and whatever wrinkles remained could be smoothed out with a bottle or two of Guinness extra stout and for good measure, as well as to secure sleep, some red wine, then sleep, repeat.
Looking at what I've written it is clear that even the most obtuse observer would be able to formulate a preliminary diagnosis for my ennui saying, "Well that's not a good way to live, maybe that's your problem." or such like. And in truth, I often thought to say such myself but the allure of oblivion was strong in me which sounds like what was said of Luke Skywalker, the force being strong in him but my gift was unlikely to help me defeat the evil empire and besides I didn't have the energy.
The evil empire: Having grown up in the sixties, I was born in 49, I knew all about the evil empire that scooped up people my age, disproportionately black, and sent them to kill Asians in rice patties. I took to the streets, to guerrilla theatre, to sit ins, to teach ins, to rage against the machine, which is now a band that won't let the Republicans play their music. I had a cause and a purpose, we had a cause and a purpose but it went terribly wrong, ultimately sex, drugs, and rock and roll no matter how delightful were not enough. We lost our way and those who believed that ass-kissing obeisance was the righteous rite of passage until they too rose to become the ass that was kissed eventually took over, i.e. Karl Rove et.al.
So I knew what to fight but was too lazy to do the heavy lifting. How this all came about and how I eventually returned to the fray will have to wait for another day as this is as long as I would like it to be today.
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