Having my way with Ulysses

Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!

Neither vengeance nor pardon nor prisons nor even oblivion can modify the invulnerable past. To me, hope and fear seem no less vain, for they always refer to future events: that is, to events that will not happen to us, who are the minutely detailed present. I am told that the present, the specious present of the psychologists, lasts from a few seconds to a minute fraction of a second; that can be the duration of the history of the universe. In other words, there is no such history.10:50 am

Why is history a nightmare from which I am trying to awake?  I’ll tell you why.  We are consigned to the moment we choose to experience.  That’s it.  Done.  Once we’ve turned a moment of now into an event that’s past then that’s that.  Live with it.  All other possibilities are impossible.  History is a trap.  I’ll admit this to you, I don’t give a shit, I’m telling you.  I am paralyzed by my lot in time.  The pain of it.  I can’t help it.  None of us can.  You can’t either.  The events of my life have shaped me to what I am at this moment and I am afraid.  The choices I’ve made cannot be unmade.  And worse, the actions I choose not to perform can never be possible again.  No wonder I feel guilt.  No wonder I am estranged from the light.  Are you afraid too?  I’ll lay it on the line for you:  it is not just about the things I have done or not done.  History is nightmarish because the more choices I make, the more compounded are the infinities of possibilities that are no longer available.  Finito.  Untouchable.  Pick a slim number of things to do to say to never do to never say, and you leave an infinity unchosen.  I could have, I should have, I might have, I would have.  There is no waking from this nightmare.  I am trying but what if at that sweet moment of consciousness that nightmare gives me a back kick?  So I go back to lucid dreaming.  Deasy is waiting for history to perfect itself into deity.  But listen to that?  You hear that?  That shout?  That’s God.  There’s God.  A shout in the street is all the deity there is.  Come one, you know what I mean.  You can sniff out the truth.  Smell it.  When was the last time you shouted for any reason?  Joy, fear, rage, ecstasy, what have you.  Feel it now.  During that shouting moment, that tiny moment, in the space of that sweet bit of infinity in the palm of your hand, you have no idea of history at all.  No thought of it, no need of it, no influence from it, no back kick, no memory, no guilt, no remorse, no horrible regret, no nothing.  Shout and you are free.  You transcend.  You are the manifestation of God.