Thursday, 7 September 2017

On Lifting Veils and Tomorrows.

I’ve been musing a lot today on the mystery of the Lady B’s habit of shaking me rigid every now and then, and I think the veil is beginning to lift. I think I’m now getting to grips with what made her human alter-ego so compelling and therefore her ghost so insistent.

I very much doubt that her erstwhile corporal host knows it, and I also doubt that anyone in the host’s orbit knows it either. I strongly suspect that the truth of the matter lies in a place rarely visited by the common tread of human perception, and that she will go through life sadly unaware of a rare virtue.

But enough of the Lady B, for now at least. It isn’t my place to acquaint her with her special quality, especially since I promised ‘no more words from me.’ I’m also aware that I must seem a fool to most disinterested readers, and there are only so many times I want to be so regarded in one week. And I might be wrong anyway.

*  *  *

To other matters:

Vis-à-vis the previous post about Will’s ramblings on yesterdays. I now remember what he said about tomorrows:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;

It makes you wonder whether tomorrows are worth having, doesn’t it? Admittedly, Macbeth was in a bit of a fix at the time, what with having no friends to speak of and Birnam Wood marching up the hill to snuff him out, but it still encourages a simple muse:

When you’re young you take tomorrow for granted and welcome it unthinkingly, but you get to a point in life when you start wondering how many you’ve got left and whether they’re worth the bother.

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