There is no arriving. (I hate that.)
The Muse Letter No. 77
Every November it seems I need to die another death.
Surprisingly knowing this does not make it easier. Surprisingly it is mostly the same shit feeling every time because every time I still happen to believe that once and for all I have fixed things (e.g. me) until I realise I have not. Of course.
There is no arriving. (I hate that.)
In Yoga everything is about change: “the idea that something changes. This change must bring us to a point where we have never been before. That is to say, that which was impossible becomes possible; that which was unattainable becomes attainable; that which was invisible can be seen.” I read in “The Heart Of Yoga” a book I ordered this week in a particular gloomy moment. A book I heard of ten years ago in a Yoga class in Budapest, the teacher hugging it like a pillow, a source of great comfort. I remember how warmly she spoke of it, how it had helped her.
“The Things That Darken The Heart” is the chapter I start reading first. As I can feel mine blackening, little holes that are draining me, seemingly out of nowhere, but given the fact that last year in November I wrote about “Disillusion: Give me the death I need” probably a lot of it has to do with the fact that it’s dark, it’s the end of the year: And what have you done with your life so far?
"As the darkness arrives early these days like a too eager party guest surprising us in our; whatever we don’t want it to see: our unwashed hair, messy kitchen, the laundry rack we’re yet to clear away. Too sudden, too early, mostly unwelcome. It interrupts our movements, finds us in our vanity, we’re alone with it now. November seeks our darkest self the one we’ve been trying to hide. The skeleton under our beds, the things we’ve left untouched all Summer. The darkness reveals it. Our shadows come to life.”