Sometimes wonderfulThe paint is peeling from the wood of the Guides' hut. Inside, my girls are listening to a fat woman with a shrill voice telling them about something I'm not sure what, I'm not listening. We are standing out in the cold, dutiful parents in the best place we can be: serving our children.
The hut is ageing but it will likely outlive me. I was thinking, no one will sing over me. Am I sad that there is no magic in my life, or that there is no magic in this world? It has always seemed prosaic to me; sometimes wonderful, true, but nothing beyond what there is and how that makes us feel.
But I wish love really was eternal so that I could love my golden girls forever, so that there was a little piece of remembrance of my love for them throughout time.
I was reading today that a physicist, a true hierophant of naturalism, theorises that there is no dark matter, and the unexplained pull that we know is there but cannot find its source is the echo of a deeper universe, that all we perceive is the froth on an ocean that we cannot see, touch or feel.
I like the idea. It suggests that the universe is not random, but that what we perceive of it seems random because we cannot discern the underlying pattern.
And sometimes I like to think I want to know the answers, but other times I feel it is just as satisfying to have to make your own. Sometimes I have wanted magic, and I have felt envious of those who are able to have faith that it is there. I find their god unsatisfying but that does not mean there could not be one that offered a better fit.
The other day, I was thinking, maybe the rightists are not wrong. Maybe it really is just a dog-eat-dog world, devil take the hindmost, and I have just been hindmost. I worry that that is why I am on the left: not that I believe in community, but that I believe in the underdog because I am one.
But, you know, they are ugly and the world they paint is ugly too. Whyever I believe what I believe, it leads me to believe in a world that can be beautiful, in the goodness of my fellows, however little they show it, in a numinous "better".
I will take aesthetics if I can find it. Without it, we have to just be angry apes in a hostile world, and really, do you want that?
We move through the night, the cold fogging the windows. I am thinking about the people I have loved and how clueless I am about why they just slipped away. I am just not good at it, and in thinking that, I wish I knew whether I mean, at being loved or at anything at all. It is so hard not to just be hollow, to let the currents of your life echo inside you.
I grab Zenita and hug her. I love you, she says. My every cell sings. It doesn't matter what this really is. It doesn't matter how you explain it. It exists. That is all we need.