Quite often the phrase: “Tragedy Looms at the Edge of Time”, scratches at me like a cat pawing and abrading my leg for a pet. I do as she wishes, bend and pet her and she purrs in contentment, but her hair lingers on my pant leg.
As with the cat hair, the expression pops out and lingers afterward causing me to question its meaning. I fantasize that this place lives within my mind and I imagine that it knows all about me, including a forecast of my future moments. I think that if I dare dip into its quagmire I will be overcome by squelched visions of hate, buffeted by fleeting dreams of hope, wrenched by truths I have ignored, twisted by each manipulation I have felt, hear once more the taunts from long-ago bullies and relive the anguish of grief.
The thought of all that tires me. I feel a bit overwhelmed and find it is necessary to understand much more and how it pertains to me.
Tragedy: How does this relate to me? Tragedy should cause distress and great suffering. I feel none although I wonder if I should? Edge:As a noun it presents itself as mean, a line or border at which a surface terminates, thus also referring to at a brink or on the verge of something somewhere. Could this edge mean that change which has never set well with me is approaching. Looms:A strong verb that brings many images to my mind.
To come into view as a massive, distorted, or indistinct image
To be in the mind in a magnified, threatening form.
To seem imminent; impending.
Should I interpret these meanings and believe that my mind is a prophet proclaiming a threat to my existence? I have never smiled on change, nor has any one other than myself decided new directions for me.
As I continue exploring I find that I am not the only one that knows this phrase and others have developed their own explanation for it. If I wish to put this to rest I should take the easiest way out and accept that the phrase is not an idiom, but rather that it is nonce phrase. Nonce explains only in a temporary present.
Whatever I can gain in the present moment the nonce suggests that the answer will come by the end of the present day. This doesn’t bring much resolution so I thought that I should look at the nonce antonyms. When I do I am left with the past and the future.
Originally, I imagined that this phrase knows all about me in the current moment. Now I realize that information must be redirected to the past or include it in the future forecast. Basically there are 3 moments that revolve continually. Two of them record and record what was present. In memory they are part of the past or part of future thought.
Finally, I realize the edge of time is my unconscious mind working. It is where I must have balance in my life, it is a fleeting time of decision. The edge of time becomes an imaginary border where if I verge on without judgement tragedy will loom out over me in an unwanted threatening form.
Sometimes when you least expect it, a bolt of lightning strikes.When it does you react quickly with a smile and a word, “hi” if you are meeting someone. Once the greeting is over you know you need to smile and begin to understand why you felt an unwanted, shocking strike.It is a time for you to cope regardless of what the moment brought to you.
Yesterday, we arranged to have lunch with our neighbor from where we previously lived.We were neighbors for six years and the last time we saw them was a year ago in front of our house. That day they each came over to bid us a pleasant good-bye.We often chatted with them in our yard or their’s and rarely did we go into each other’s homes to have aformal time with each other.Even though we chatted under the mango trees or during a time when we helped each other we did get to know a fair amount about each other.
As I climbed out of the car my eye quickly stopped at the wife and then on to the husband followed by the strike of lightning. During the next moment, I found it difficult to say “hi” and pull me together to act normal.The husband‘s Parkinson’s worsened leaving his left-hand shake unmercifully.His wife looked haggard and worn.She appeared as though she was ten years older than she is.
Without too much delay she began to talk about herself and why her shabby appearance was due to her muddled mind. We accompanied them as they walked into the house. The husband still is of sound mind although his physical appearance showed that he had lost weight; the weight that had been lost by an erratic diet. later he mentioned that there wasn’t food in the house and that we needed to go out.I felt bad and wanted to shop and make food for them. Yet he would never allow anyone to give them anything.This is something I learned during our six years we were neighbors.
Over the next two hours, we listened as they each told us about her problems.She was crestfallen and tired and conscious of what she felt.She explained at lunch that the man across the table was not her husband, he was a replacement, one that she was not as comfortable as with her real husband.He asked her for the keys she carried but she would not release them and we knew that she wouldn’t give them to him because she felt this new person might take the car or lock her out of the house.She kept thinking her purse was missing and then back at the house she stopped us to look at the man in the tree.Her purse was in her bedroom as it always is. Back at their house after lunch, she said that there was a man in the tree. There was no man.
As we drove away, we worried about both of them.We tried to ask them for any information about their son but didn’t get any. The next day we located him and explained to him what we saw and understood.We felt it was very important for him to go to them and see the sad state each of his parents was in.At night, the wife gets very upset, goes to the front yard and screams for help for someone to call the police to protect her.On the other hand, she has been a threat to her husband’s peace and he feels the same as her in calling the police.
Their son will be with them tonight and try to decide what must be done.Unfortunately, both his parents need professional evaluations during a stay in a hospital.There are many tales within the bolt of lightning and they must be sorted out by a professional.I hope there peace comes to them and strength given to the son to make it happen for them.
Each day passes more quickly than I would like. I wish for the passage of night to be short, but by early morning, before dawn is even awakening, I toss and turn and feel that one more moment or hour in bed will be too much for me. With each day I worry that I may be returning to old habits and old habits brought me into the depths of sleep deprivation. So far I still am affected by the accumulation of little sleep, particularly when I get up early……..then I am most aware of how tired I can be.
Yesterday at dusk or during the crepuscular day, while working in my garden, I wished that the dusk could last longer, but once the greyness sets in, the black surrounds us very quickly in Florida. I also wished that the dawn of morning could also come earlier so the length of that new day light could last longer. Within a moment I realized, probably because of the heat of the day, that I wanted to work within the grey parts of the day when everything begins to calm and feel more comfortable. Juxtaposed to my life the real twilights and dawns, the times that signal the most significant changes in my day may be a lesson for me in life.
Rather than wondering and worrying about the days of Crepusculum, maybe I need to just start enjoying this time of my life like I enjoy the twilight and the dawn. Maybe, being within my Crepusculum can become as calming to me as the real world’s crepuscular times.
So, instead of worrying about my lack of sleep, my aches and pains, or always hoping for those particular times of the day, and stop always wishing the reality of my life to change, maybe I should take my Mother’s advice and stop evaluating today or yesterday and look toward tomorrow and smile as I anticipate just how wonderful it can be.
Continually I am asked by the ones that are closest to me, “Are you fine?” “What is the matter?” “No I don’t think that is the reason, so what is it?” If I try to answer the first two questions, most likely I receive the third question in response to my answer.
This brings me to a point in my life where I ask a question, “Why is it when I say what is the problem, I am told that my reason is justified and that I don’t understand the situation. The situation is mine I think and after all this time of living I should hope that I know what my situation is. But, there is a difference. When I was young I would never think of telling someone what was bothering me. Now I do and I think that is the basic problem. I was an expert at covering up what I was feeling. Well, how could I tell them when my self esteem was even lower than it is now. Back then I felt I could never be truthful because I felt that the truth would hurt me more than them.
Now, it feels more important to me to tell the truth. Yes I suppose I could sugar-coat it a little, but then usually these same people don’t sugar coat much for me. One is M. who is so troubled with the way that I am, particularly in my reaction to acquaintances and friends, as well as himself. Well, as two examples of his worry, one friend has used up all the care and help that I have for her. I have helped and helped and been there, and been there for her and what have I gotten in return is a plea for more help. I just don’t have more to give since now I feel I must take care of me and so I stay away as quietly and politely as I can. Another is a new acquaintance, who I thought might become a good friend. When I realized that the “the sale–the job–the inevitable bit of money made” was more important than understanding what I wanted and dealing with it. Yes I was the client, but it didn’t seem to matter much. I was quickly told that I should understand that what I wanted to happen, (I had full rights to ask for what I wanted) went against the grain of the acquaintance. I understood in a moment that the commission in the sale was the most important. Well, as I am known to do, the axe fell on this supposed relationship and now I am questioned why I made the decision I did.
I often think that this is the most appropriate time in my life to say what I am, what I want and how I see it. If I don’t act now on my beliefs what am I going to do during that long journey with in my Crepusculum. I can just imagine how my care can take quick turns that I don’t believe in. That fact is catalyst enough for me to know I must grab a hold of my own life and start letting everyone know my wishes. I just can’t sit in the quiet “corner” any longer. This is all different to me as it is to the others who question me, but I believe this current life turmoil and questioning must be during my transition from quiet toad sitting on the side of life, to a new, determination that makes people say, “Guess I can’t run over him any longer!” Its not easy to change. If you are like me then agree to take a chance to stake out your independence. Grab a hold of your wishes and sell them boldly to all you meet. That little change will make you begin to see that it is possible to journey through Crepusculum with a modicum of respect and enjoyment.
If I let go of all the things I know, if I toss from my heart what tugs at its’ walls, if I take the chance to step on to the edge of my soul, then will I be better or worse than I am.
Will the sun shine again as bright as before, will I never again feel the anxiety within my mind or, can I take a hold of all the scarred, ragged edges and bring them back and sew them together again?
If I bend and pick up the pieces of me If I reach and hold onto the sweetest of the memories, If I sit and stare at the nothing I see in the vision of my soul, then will color be able to return to the space I see with my eyes.
Will sorrow that pierces and gouges the heart, be changed so that the spring returns to the soul or will tomorrow only bring another spear laced with grief that only I can feel its’ sting?
As I continue on my journey toward my twilight it is evident that I shall be carrying a few more questions that I can only answer. Each day I realize that there isn’t any one else in the world that can tell me how I am to do the things I am to do, understand how and when the haze of my world will return to its normal clarity and it is only I who can can know when my tomorrow will feel like it has brought the new spring to my life.
For now I continue to muddle with in the sludge under the white snow that occasionally lets me slip and fall. It is the grayness of the sky that matches what my eyes see as I sit, sometimes too long, staring off into the corner of my bedroom; or at times I fall asleep on the chaise only to awaken and return to the sight of that same corner of nothing.
I question also, when will the night begin to pass without numerous times of awakening to see just how much longer I need to stay there. Eventually I arise before dawn and trip quietly down the stairs so that I don’t awaken M. or the cat, Souse. It is then, once again in the appalling quietude of our house I sit in that corner of the kitchen that I have always sat in before the bright monitor of the computer to think of what next could lessen the impact of these days on my soul.
And then suddenly, I realize I have passed from the time of pensive thought into flipping url’s like Blueberry Pancakes on a sizzling hot grill and as the pancakes are stacked they leave no room between. As I arise from the computer I know the day lies ahead to be experienced mostly with agitation even more than the Kenmore washer produces to wash my clothes. And I seem to follow the same cycling. First there is the agitation, then the rinsing and calming of my mind only to plunge forward into a spinning haze.
I think of all this newness of experiences each day and wonder is it all that bad and will I be able to make it through it and look backward and know that even in my mature years I can grow and learn all there is that life has to offer. I know for now I wonder why there needs to be lessons like I am within, but I think that somewhere in the motion of living there is a plan for me and I must follow this relentless path to find greater peace.
As I turn each new corner I find myself a little closer to my crepuscular years. With each step I must take now I realize it can only prepare me for the new years ahead of me. To gain wisdom through thoughts, by the anguish created by death and by recording my collective new beliefs then it is an acceptable path that I take.
Once again I have written this post and poem to help me understand myself and to help me see why I have great difficulty in accepting my Mother’s death. As this one progressed, first the poem, then the paragraph prior to the poem, next the paragraph just after the poem, on to the top animation and then the rest kept on coming. As I reread what I wrote, and I always have a lot of rereads, I noticed my words, openness and reactions to life were getting a little diifferent. I decided that I am not going to edit much because it is important for you to see the changes in my thoughts as I progressed. It became evident that I was beginning to discover many nuances about myself. The nuances do not jump out after you, but you will feel the change. Hopefully, if I continue to use this approach in my writing my thinking will become clearer and my thoughts will become more organized and my approach to life will be better.
An animation showing atmospheric corona around sun This animation shows the rising sun through thin clouds that cause diffraction rings to appear. The pink clouds caused the diffraction rings. Then the exposure was reduced and constant after. Notice, once the sun rises above the cloud layer, the ring magically transforms into dramatic spikes. The rings are atmospheric effects, while the spikes are due to optical effects within the camera.
From Wikipedia: This image has been released into the public domain by its author, Tomruen. This applies worldwide.
My days now are managed by time more than they used to be……….Depending upon what is happening in any twenty four hours I am affected by my interpretation of metaphorical time, as well as, the many other forms of time, including the real down to earth time that we all are accustomed to experiencing. My relationship with time changed even more when I became a caregiver. Sometimes it is on my side, but all too often I know it slides through my hands, then mocks and toys with me as my life progresses within each day. Time is not always my friend………
Time rushes in like a gale of wind forcing me to stand at guard,
it leaps in boundless increments making my stance unsteady,
then without cause, turns to languish upon my battered mind and
provoking it to deteriorate even more on its own remorse.
I think how fortunate it is to be time, an entity of baseless emanations,
whose sole objective is to be consistent in its adeptness to abrade my soul.
The anguish prevails, whether time comes like greased lightning or
as an adagio movement, it still pierces my heart as tears stream down my cheeks.
I wonder who tells it how fast or slow to go?
Does it know, regardless of its speed, that it can wrench me beyond my control?
Does it know it shapes my feelings and emotions beyond repair?
No, I think this thing called time just doesn’t care.
This thing called time flies by and suddenly, with the blink of an eyelid,
everything changes or remains the same.
In the quietude of pensive thought I know when it has done its job.
Without looking, suddenly there is noise, where there was black now there is white.
All softness has become hard and the glimmer of light becomes dusk.
For the moment, I decide to look into time, rather than at it or looking for it.
I look without tears, fear, happiness or a smile,
for if I do I know my happiness will fade, the smile will stiffen
and quiver as reality strikes with blows of fear.
I look into time and all I can see for miles is my present day.
It teeters on a precarious precipice that allows me to go in only one direction.
Look into time for the answer to my quest, the thing I want the most,
yet when I look I find time stops me from ever letting me return to what was.
For as long as I remember I have lived in and for the events that have already happened. Let me lounge on the chaise in my bedroom on any day. I will close my eyes and let my mind wonder. Soon, dreams of some wonderful past event will form and I will step into that vision without any hesitation. Eventually, I return psychologically to the present day and rise to continue with what I be doing. I think about, as I begin the task at hand, how wonderful it would be to remain where I just came from because the memory was so vivid and it was one of those perfect days.
You may find my living for or within the past fairly strange for a person of my age. But when I think about doing this, then I realize how it has shaped my life and answers many questions concerning how I think and why I believe/ed tomorrow is less important than the past. I can understand now that I may live in the present day, but that I prefer the past because it is safer. The past is safe because all decisions have been made, I can be selective and frolic in whatever former day I wish and never need to face something that affects the rest of my life. I have rarely thought of the metaphorical tomorrow–the place that is the key to the rest of my life, the place where dreams are built and smiles abound. It is that place, though, that I have to acknowledge, particularly if I want a better tomorrow and then I need to do the work to acquire it
For the past year I have written not as many posts as I should about my crepusculum. It is sad to say, but often I bring up items that I should deal with now, rather than waiting. Not only should I have a plan for my older years, I should have it as organized and implemented as I can. Yet many of the points are left to dangle in my present day.
I write about my dear Mother and the terrible time I have accepting her death. I have been given some really good ideas on how to deal with all of this and until yesterday moving forward in my thought process never occurred. This strange, elusive thing called time, with its ability to change its length really doesn’t change. I am and you are the only one that can change the length of an increment of time. Please remember, I am talking about regular, old time that we know. We are the only ones that can describe and label time depending upon how it affects us. I am the culprit that places strange labels on time. It can’t strike out with blows of fear, but I can do that to myself. It can’t really teeter on a precarious precipice, but I can tell you that it does. I am the one that looks around and depending upon how I am dealing with life I can stop any forward movement in my life.
Yes, time may not be my friend, but it is beginning to open paths to ideas about my life in my mind.
Time became a factor of major importance for Claude Monet. In his desire to seize upon the exact moment of vision, Monet found himself at work on a dozen or more canvases of the same subject, each recording a particular moment in the day. The artificiality of such a procedure led him to reflect upon the nature of time; so that in his last works, the paintings of the now famous lilies floating on water, one seems to have gone beyond everyday reality into some strange world behind appearances, where cosmic, elemental forces are in play. These lily pond pictures slowly grew in size and took on unparalleled dimensions; composition as Monet understood it disappeared and all the forms dissolved in light.