one year ago and what did i know. not psychic, not mystic, just a rustic with a bunch of words spilling out into different containers, college-rules and computer screens left to receive the best guesses.
that’s what it was, although i didn’t know. guessing. assumption. maybe more assumption than a guess, because i wasn’t trying to understanding something that i didn’t know, but assumed that i understood something which, in fact, i knew nothing about.
but i didn’t know that i didn’t know. that’s usually the case. if you live in a closed system, of sorts, how would you ever recognize the limit of your own vision. the world was flat, and i was writing about death and longing, of trees and springtime.
it was living in a world occluded, subterranean. and although all signs were pointing towards demise, the destruction was presumed to be, perhaps, infinitely far off. something that would never happen. because the way things were (then) were just the way things were. no different than normal, and what else could it be. it was never given much thought. it just was.
but then came death, virtual, and death, literal. and these packets of assumption died along with it. the tombstone was then carved by chance and a visit. and in the year since that year, i think that the entry - though valid - no longer can be attributed to any current science. it’s deprecated, like phrenology, and is a dusty curio in an antique store.
and now, if confronted with the same situation as last year, i know that it would only be a glancing blow. or it would never reach the point of collapse, because it would never get that far. the impostor would be unmasked, their tin tools bent over knee and they sent packing.
because now i understand what i thought i knew then. my vision has been cleared, the veils have been lifted, and i can now see across the 490 to the only truth i have ever encountered. a truth that reveals all others to be unimportant and fraudulant. a truth that infuses all i see. a truth that is with me in every waking moment, and in every somnolent sigh. a truth that takes its place at center, and leaves no challengers in its wake.
and that’s the truth.