I just read my evening post on New Year’s Eve of that year,
and they were the subject of some honourable mention. There was M’Lady S (later
re-titled the Lady B), The Woman in America, and the Priestess. They
were the three queens who ferried the old man to his death on Avalon in my
little allegorical story An Episode in Three
Lives, therein known as Princess, Life and Priestess respectively.
The first two are gone now, one to marriage, motherhood and
the subtle maelstrom of domestic bliss, the other to some unknown place which I
might guess to be a faraway urban jungle. The Priestess is still hovering in
plain sight somewhere in the North Country. At
least I assume it’s somewhere in the North Country,
for you can never know with the Priestess. Here today, there tomorrow; the
world is both her playground and her workplace. Just where I fit in is
something of a mystery to me.
And do you know what I wrote in that post? I wrote:
And where else should
a mere man be but in thrall to a special woman?
Did I really write that? Seems I did. I wouldn’t write it
now, of course, because aspiration in all its varied forms faded with the changing
face in the mirror and the coming of the fog. Aspiration is for the young, the
fit and the strong, those able to swim with confidence through high waves and
deep water.
(A little aside: Did I ever write a post about the time when
I was being dragged out to sea by a combination of currents and an ebbing tide?
I don’t remember. It was scary, but the point is that I was fifteen at the time
and physically strong enough to deny fate its catch. Not so now. Now is the
winter of discontent, disenchantment, and just plain decrepitude.)
But no matter, at least my mind is still maddeningly active.
In fact, most of the time it’s so maddeningly active that I can’t focus
properly on the things I’m supposed to be focusing on.
And do you know what’s odd? The more I become aware of
mortality and the increasing speed of time, the more I’m coming to feel that my
life hasn’t started yet – that I’ve spent all my past years just waiting to set my
foot on the right road. And here I am, totally lacking aspiration because
aspiration has become untenable. It’s a weird feeling. Maybe three ladies and a mystical isle hold the clue.
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