In certain times, there is a sense of progress and riches. In such times many of us can ply our trades and offer our wares with youthful panache and virtuosity. There appears to be much work to be done, and we offer to do whatever there is and more, because we want to be in on the doing. There is room for all: the more, the merrier. We expand to the edges, to fill the space of these times, as if they are all of time.
Then, times change. Space contracts, and we have grown older. Now it is difficult to know which is what; where causes lie. Some of us, hurt, strike out in the directions we can still find, and strike inward at the past’s duped selves. We were bought and sold out of our own exuberant innocence. Digging in, we strove to get beyond the times, and beyond our former selves, to do whatever the work we had promised our selves.
Others have made fewer self-promises. No one at home, they sought causes and found them in all directions outside of themselves. The truly skilled found support in continuity: others, flushed and flashed, disappeared from view. The causes, the support, the on-goings and the going on, all exacted certain costs, and demanded certain prices. And the less self-promised paid them, lest they, too, disappear. Stronger, now, in the weaknesses of belonging.
Here we are still, together. Strong…appearing. All of us less innocent. Which of us survive until tomorrow?
