With less than six hours to go to the end of 2011, I suppose I should be thinking in terms of a review of the year. Should I? Would there be any point, since not much of what happened didn’t find its way onto the excessively inflated pages of this blog?
A very brief one, perhaps.
It’s been a year in which isolation has not only built, but been observed, analysed and rationalised. It’s been a year in which demons and general disturbances have been ever to the fore. It’s been a year of inadequate sleep, anxiety and fits of the horrors.
But adversity must be used as a learning tool, and learned I have. I’ve learned to be more authentic, to stop playing roles, to look for the thing called ‘me.’ And do you know what? I’m more lost now than I’ve ever been, and I regard that as a damn fine thing, because when you really get down to the big question, a human life has very little objective reality. The great conquerors amount to nothing. Success, as it’s perceived in human culture, is but an illusion. Self-aggrandisement is a pointless falsehood, and ambition a path to nothing but perdition’s flame.
But, by way of offering a positive thought, let me give credit to the special people of 2011, the ones who made the year worth living by giving me the little things of great import – M’Lady S, the Priestess, and the Woman in America (arranged strictly in alphabetical order.) And let me honour them with one little example from each.
M’Lady S, for doing her Hermione impression when she demanded ‘Come closer so I can hear you properly!’
The Priestess for bringing her sublime presence to my life again, albeit briefly.
The Woman in America, for uttering that magical phrase I shall never forget: ‘Yes, yes, you may.’
Blessings to you, ladies. You made 2011 hard, but special. Where we go in 2012 will be up to you; I’m in your hands. And where else should a mere man be but in thrall to a special woman?
The scotch is talking now. It’s a 12-year-old Lochnagar, and it’s very, very nice. Time to make dinner, I think.
Happy New Year.