past
Today, I felt quite a profound sense of longing and it only took a moment to realize what it was: longing for the past. I've felt this countless times, when something reminds me of the past - a feeling or a sensation or a notion of how it was once before. I feel like I can only catch glimpses of how grand things really are, the past included. Like only catching glimpses of a part of the incomprehensible whole. Does that make any sense? But it's like that with most things - to me - that conjure up that longing-sense. One can only catch a delicious glimpse but it leaves one longing for the whole infinite instead of just a part. Oh wow I make no sense.
But anyway. I always feel slightly uncomfortable writing about these things because it seems quite personal - feelings. I don't talk about feelings, usually, unless in a private time with someone I trust utterly.
I've always felt that the past is not as far away as one would expect. I never felt the past to be gone. And it isn't. Because the past is the road that led to the present and one can look back down the road once but - it's veiled in mist now. And then one thinks about how the present, this moment, now, will it be some day veiled in mist? It's not pleasant to imagine oneself veiled in mist. But that was a tangent. What I really meant to say was that I don't think the past is gone. I think it is still - somewhere. Whenever I think of the past that poignant longing comes up - it's sharp. I always love to feel close to the past - looking at old things: centuries-ago ladies' dresses, writing-desks of great authors from the past, castles that are austere now but once were loud and blazing with drama. But still, it never feels like enough. One can touch fabric woven by a dressmaker who lived three hundred years ago but cannot shake hands with the lady herself now. That is it. And cannot feel the whole thing - that thing which people always seem to be striving for but not quite reach...
But I don't think the past is altogether unreachable. I don't think it is definitely past. In a way it is present as part of a spirit under all that anyone sees today. I feel like it's always just out of reach - like so many grand things. But if one stands still in an enchanted moment he can doubtless feel it.
But anyway. I always feel slightly uncomfortable writing about these things because it seems quite personal - feelings. I don't talk about feelings, usually, unless in a private time with someone I trust utterly.
I've always felt that the past is not as far away as one would expect. I never felt the past to be gone. And it isn't. Because the past is the road that led to the present and one can look back down the road once but - it's veiled in mist now. And then one thinks about how the present, this moment, now, will it be some day veiled in mist? It's not pleasant to imagine oneself veiled in mist. But that was a tangent. What I really meant to say was that I don't think the past is gone. I think it is still - somewhere. Whenever I think of the past that poignant longing comes up - it's sharp. I always love to feel close to the past - looking at old things: centuries-ago ladies' dresses, writing-desks of great authors from the past, castles that are austere now but once were loud and blazing with drama. But still, it never feels like enough. One can touch fabric woven by a dressmaker who lived three hundred years ago but cannot shake hands with the lady herself now. That is it. And cannot feel the whole thing - that thing which people always seem to be striving for but not quite reach...
But I don't think the past is altogether unreachable. I don't think it is definitely past. In a way it is present as part of a spirit under all that anyone sees today. I feel like it's always just out of reach - like so many grand things. But if one stands still in an enchanted moment he can doubtless feel it.
posted by Laura at 9:17 PM
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