There comes an interesting point when the narratives that have kept you going come to an abrupt stop. “This is my place and this is where I am going.” The unsettled feeling of the tacit destination removed. We have been pretending we are present, that the future is a myth made to soothe discomforts , and all the while building, building, building, building under the surface, in the dark.
I am not of the opinion that stories are a burden. This finding of place and setting it in the infinite seems a necessary part of transmitting meaning to the things we find every day, and try to make sense of. That advertising and commerce control the stories in the present day is the symptom of an age whose narrative began some time ago to get cut. The expansion in which we all sit was taken and controlled and every day we control as we have been taught until events occur that take this control away from us. It was as if we had no control. We did – in that we did not need to hold on to events. But getting lazy and a little scared we held.
And awakened in the moment they were ripped away.
Japan, Libya and Egypt: they make our western narratives seem very small. Though somehow we are involved and the dramas of our lives pulling us to release and again release. It is the responsible course of life. To not be owner of anything. A good steward perhaps though in Japan the good stewards have been asked to release deeper than we can quite imagine at this point.
The narrative simply stops.