There is a crackling maelstrom forming in my heart. Oversaturation of pedestrian plans makes my back ache and my mind addled, but the forces of responsibility, publicity, and ceremony are things I find much harder to digest.
I long for it only to be over, like an operation or an exam. If it was more common an event in one’s life I could rationalize and process it, but the weight society places on such formality, weight I do not share, leaves me uneasy and leaden.
So before a long day of manufactured smiles and more emsewa/em than I can bear, how do lessen the pressure rising within and find the calm?
So lightly does the thought to write strike me, but I have not written, at least not here. Have I not felt the last four months? Were there no deep moral or spiritual forks robbing me of peace? Perhaps thoughts have been more felt and less fabricated. Is any part of one’s life less of an ingress despite the hallmark of some change on paper?
Change comes announced or not, but at some point the dam breaks and floodgates open, releasing a coarsing torrent of reform, wild and
far-reaching. That fever pitch is the frothing cusp I approach at now, 36 hours before all of the pieces fall into a plaelce where I can no longer as a reasonable man ignore their implications. At this moment I return tk the lyrics of the season for change, the lines of Autumn Tactics.