Friday, May 11, 2007
I had a complete existential crisis this week.
At one point, I was overwhelmed by the enormity of the world and my insignificance within it.
Each paragraph I read, rather than informing me, seemed merely to remind me how much Ididnt know. How much I needed to reread, how much I had forgotten. How convoluted and knotty my brain has become.
The whole idea of tiny little clusters of people, people making things, hundreds upon thousands of people making and saying and knowing, and here me in my corner, scratching around, disappeared into an endless milky way, among which a couple of stars glared in their brilliance amongst the millions.
Torn between my reading and my painting and my thinking and my working and the bloody housework and the Jobs List and the parenting. Ohhh.
I had to lie down and spend the day SIGHING piteously with despair.
One evening, I went up to
Long reef and sat in the near dark. Under a light.
There was a row of date palms shaking their fronds.
I read aloud, quite LOUDLY, as it were , to an invisible audience.
I read out loud about Gerhard Richter, and his “atlas” project. I read about anomie, and other ideas. I spoke in my lovely loud voice.
Apart from a fisherman and the hockey team practising behind me, only the sea heard.
It didn’t comment.
Or ask questions.
I feel much better today. Perspective has almost shifted back to normal.