That Moby Song at Midnight, in the UP
Marcus Aurelius is the glue that keeps my head together during the crazy-making times.
"Keep in mind how fast things pass by and are gone -- those that are now, and those to come. Existence flows past us like a river: the 'what' is in constant flux, the 'why' has a thousand variations. Nothing is stable, not even what's right here. The infinity of past and future gapes before us -- a chasm whose depths we cannot see.
So it would take an idiot to feel self-importance or distress. Or any indignation, either. As if the things that irritate us lasted."
Last night I lay awake in bed thinking about devotion, compassion. The feeling that another human being is truely "with" you. I still search for an easy way to verbalize the myriad thoughts spinning around in my head, though most of me believes that if there are still questions about why things happened the way that they did, they'll only be answered by time and the excoriation of thought. When we were seven or so, Anne and I started swimming lessons at Crane Pool. The teachers had us all go to the shallow end of the pool, so they could test our swimming abilities, and thereby decide which class we should start in. The test was to do the doggie paddle across the length of the shallow end, which was about five feet. I was overcome by fear because I had no idea, whatsoever, of how to do the doggie paddle, and I knew that Anne had already mastered it. I couldn't bear the prospect of being seperated (for the first time) from Anne. I had no idea what to do; one's coping skills at seven are not so incredibly honed. The teachers began having the kids swim across, one at a time, down the gauntlet. Anne's turn came and I started to imagine what it would feel like to watch her pass me by, if this swimming test would perhaps be the first crack in a chasm between us. Anne kicked off of the wall, and amazingly, began to sink. She didn't extend her arms as I knew that she could, she didn't kick, she didn't do ... anything. She flopped her way back to the wall, looked at me and said, "your turn."
"Commitment" is an entirely different entity when you're a twin, I think. At least this is what I've come to believe. You're either with me 100%, or you aren't with me at all. Perhaps this sounds selfish, but that's the last thing that it feels like. [reciprocity.] When you're a twin you learn early that there really are other people in the world who understand you, would break their back if only to improve your view, and wouldn't even ask for a band-aid. I can't be a rock for you unless I know that you can be a rock for me, too. The woman was wrong, warriors don't walk alone. Each other is what they fight for.
"Keep in mind how fast things pass by and are gone -- those that are now, and those to come. Existence flows past us like a river: the 'what' is in constant flux, the 'why' has a thousand variations. Nothing is stable, not even what's right here. The infinity of past and future gapes before us -- a chasm whose depths we cannot see.
So it would take an idiot to feel self-importance or distress. Or any indignation, either. As if the things that irritate us lasted."
Last night I lay awake in bed thinking about devotion, compassion. The feeling that another human being is truely "with" you. I still search for an easy way to verbalize the myriad thoughts spinning around in my head, though most of me believes that if there are still questions about why things happened the way that they did, they'll only be answered by time and the excoriation of thought. When we were seven or so, Anne and I started swimming lessons at Crane Pool. The teachers had us all go to the shallow end of the pool, so they could test our swimming abilities, and thereby decide which class we should start in. The test was to do the doggie paddle across the length of the shallow end, which was about five feet. I was overcome by fear because I had no idea, whatsoever, of how to do the doggie paddle, and I knew that Anne had already mastered it. I couldn't bear the prospect of being seperated (for the first time) from Anne. I had no idea what to do; one's coping skills at seven are not so incredibly honed. The teachers began having the kids swim across, one at a time, down the gauntlet. Anne's turn came and I started to imagine what it would feel like to watch her pass me by, if this swimming test would perhaps be the first crack in a chasm between us. Anne kicked off of the wall, and amazingly, began to sink. She didn't extend her arms as I knew that she could, she didn't kick, she didn't do ... anything. She flopped her way back to the wall, looked at me and said, "your turn."
"Commitment" is an entirely different entity when you're a twin, I think. At least this is what I've come to believe. You're either with me 100%, or you aren't with me at all. Perhaps this sounds selfish, but that's the last thing that it feels like. [reciprocity.] When you're a twin you learn early that there really are other people in the world who understand you, would break their back if only to improve your view, and wouldn't even ask for a band-aid. I can't be a rock for you unless I know that you can be a rock for me, too. The woman was wrong, warriors don't walk alone. Each other is what they fight for.
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