Apocalypse Awakening

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold,” said the Irish poet Yeats. I have never felt more connected to a line in person and in the fullness of this time. Things really are falling the fuck apart, myself included. I reach out, try to get my bearings, grasp for some sense of normalcy and then? I fall again, finding no guardrail where once I knew there was one. Mad men, drunk with power and searching for their next hit, keep going well beyond the point of pleasure.

Maybe that’s it – an addiction, per se. I can understand that. When one or two glasses of wine won’t do (they never did), have a bottle. Maybe a bottle and a half, maybe 2+. If you really want your mind to go dark, you have to keep drinking well beyond the socially acceptable, beyond what the body can tolerate and process to keep itself from metastasizing. Billionaires are addicts of the worst variety, their disease wreaking havoc on all living things great and small.

I wonder what the planets are doing to cause me such grief and introspection, such depression and inability to cope. Is Saturn in retrograde?! I haven’t been very funny lately [what am I, a clown?!] Cue Joe Pesci taking a dude all the way out at the bar.

Money feels like an overwhelming worry right now. Which almost feels silly, given the chaos. Who knows if any of us will have jobs or bank balances in the next 2 years. The Dollar is losing value by the second, as planned. Why worry? Everything could go to shit!!

Or.

Everything could go amazingly. I don’t think Vegas would put odds on that. (No one even goes to Vegas anymore. Too broke to gamble, we are…) But I suppose it’s possible, that things break all the way down and we rebuild something even better than we can imagine now. It happened in my personal life, although for sure I mourn what was, even in its deep toxicity.

I’d be OK mourning capitalism.

I have to go care for other people today, and my own well is extremely dry. I can hear the limestone pebbles bouncing off the walls as they plink their way down to the inch or three of water at the bottom. Not much to offer the thirsty traveler who comes by for a cold drink. Is it even enough to keep my heart beating in its bone-encrusted cave?

Has anyone ever written “bone-encrusted?”

If I am going to make it in these apocalyptic times, I am going to have to tap into some other reservoir. I am perhaps going to have to become delusionally optimistic, hopeful in a way that defies the current reality. Tough sell for an ADHD girlie who takes in every goddamn detail.

This too shall pass, said the ancient Persians; and they of course were right. One day, we shed this mortal coil, and the next adventure begins. Never thought I would hold Death in my heart as dearly as I do these days. I love Him and fear Him, practicing the anxious-avoidant/disorganized attachment style I’m so familiar with on yet another dance partner.

Here we go again.