The death of a Place,
The passage of A Time.
What is that?
Clock time is suffered.
Real time passes, the way
We pass from This Place.
I was almost struck by a car on 17th and Madison while returning home from work. The day was difficult. August 6th, 2020. I had cravings that I intended to indulge, or wounds that I intended to lick. All day I had listened to and told stories that involved people suffering things I hope to never suffer. Something something hospitalization, something something Ativan, something something decompensation.
My arms were full as I waited at the intersection: a loaf of bread, a steak, a small piece of cultured goat cheese. I had been looking at my phone but was not looking at it as I began to cross the street. The crosswalk changed. I began to walk. I did not look both ways. Behind me a man with a stroller screamed indistinctly, 'not even words just ahhhh ahhhh ahhhhh.' I froze.
As I looked to my left I saw a black Tesla pass through the intersection, several feet in front of me. I thanked this man and the woman that was with him and wondered about the child in the stroller. I wondered about what life meant to him now that he was responsible for a life that was small and nascent and not yet a Life. I thanked them both a few times and they told me they were glad I was okay. "I need to pay attention," I said. "Well, you assume it is your turn when the light changes," the woman said kindly and matter-of-factly. A mail carrier crossed from the other side of the street, "I'm glad you are okay." I thanked him as well.
I went about my evening. I cooked the food I purchased. It was a delicious meal and I enjoyed it more having been reminded of how quickly I could pass from this place in a way altogether different from how that Tesla passed through the place where I almost was.
I am soon moving from the apartment I have been living in for more than two and a half years. I am sad for a variety of reasons but am eager for a new place where I can be alone with myself. I remember people who told me that they struggled being alone, they didn't like it. They don't like to be alone.
I suppose I understand what that means.
But I so love being alone. And it is not a matter of course, to be alone. It is not a fact of our birth or being. It is something altogether different; an achievement, a relief, a gift... something something whatever Rilke said about Solitude becoming Vast.... something something 'walk inside of yourself for miles without meeting another soul...'
I meet many souls and I am fond of them. I think some of them are fond of me.
I hope for more.
I wonder which soul almost ran me over in their Tesla on August 6th, 2020. I wonder if they understand, imagine they understand,
the way that we all pass from this place.
What would it mean to hasten the passage of a being from this place?
What will it be like,
to pass from this place?
Something something 'being dead is not an experience one can have.'
Something something 'when we are, death is not; when death is, we are not.'
Something something the being of death is not the being of nothingness.
I wonder, what will happen, when I undertake my passage.
I look forward to that learning, but I hope to delay it
until its due time.
