— this is really happening

there’s not even enough time for time to pass

I wish I was at Talland House today, near St. Ives, the house where Virginia Woolf spent many holidays as an adult. I’ve never been there, someday someday, but I suspect the ocean beyond the high hedges would make an exact backdrop for this day, and this mood. As D.M. says, I am decsending, if not already, into a dark room of too much to do and not enough time to do it. So I am squeezing in this post. No idea why. Like the furniture that must support me while I grumble, I am confounded that Adjustment and Flexibility must lean against me with such vigor on some days. Like the speed of the sun setting can sometimes surprise a person. The dark comes and creeps into all my keyholes and all my crevices. And I know it’s usually a short spell, but today I am in it.

However folks, the koan of the day, (and this is coming from all sides) is to sit back and feel the hard and tough day without trying to make it stop. Hmm. Okay. Let’s do that. Right. OK. Got it. /drama /melodrama /sigh

"So with the lamps all put out, the moon sunk, and a thin rain drumming on the roof a downpouring of immense darkness began. Nothing, it seemed, could survive the flood, the profusion of darkness which, creeping in at keyholes and crevices, stole round window blinds, came into bedrooms, swallowed up here a jug and basin, there a bowl of red and yellow dahlias, there the sharp edges and firm bulk of a chest of drawers. Not only was furniture confounded; there was scarcely anything left of body or mind by which one could say, “This is he” or “This is she.” Sometimes a hand was raised as if to clutch something or ward off something, or somebody groaned, or somebody laughed aloud as if sharing a joke with nothingness."

-from "Time Passes," by Virginia Woolf

 

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