Sliced up.

All this time I spend in my own mind,
I always thought I was feeling my way through things, 
but really, I was just weaving myself narratives,
intricate, complicated slices of life, neatly served and ready for consumption.
Sometimes I catch myself unable to face things until I've composed the story
And I wonder if others do the same thing,
or if I am the only one constantly building towers for my own feelings
so that I know how to behave.
How to play out the story. 
Maybe now that the narrative is creaking, my behavior is becoming too obvious to ignore.
Maybe I needed the story to arch prematurely this time,
so that I could finally deconstruct it and simply live my way through things. 
Could I-
Let everything happen to me- beauty and terror- without knowing beforehand how it is going to play out?
Trust that life is in the right, always?
Reacting instead of intuitively knowing how to act?
Sometimes falling apart instead of holding things together?
The kind of sliced up life that you have to bake yourself from scratch.


It is a false dichotomy, that between the past and the future,
and alternative worldviews are ripe with clichés.
In truth we're everywhere, all the time.
We contain multitudes, we contain contradictions, we are human.
Let us ponder that time is not linear; does that mean regret shouldn't technically be possible?
Some suggest that the boundaries of grammar set the limits of our understanding.
That without the subjunctive, how can we even entertain the idea of a counter-factual?
Does the absence of the form preclude the substance?
I'd like to think that the mind transcends the linguistic tracks we have carved out for ourselves.
That cuneiform and hieroglyphic minds imagined other worlds even if their signs don't show complex tenses.
How else could they have created words where there was once nothing?
At that first carving of the clay, what would you be thinking?
Write the word, write the world...
When the world is in disarray, language can help us fuse tenses that appear irreconcilable.
Competing ideas of what has been and must be left behind,
and what might be and should be sought can find refuge under the same roof.
The Ashanti people of Ghana created symbols to represent ideas.
The symbol of Sankofa is vizualised through a heart-like shape with roots stretching from its base. 
Its meaning- it is not too late to go back for that which you have lost.
Time and language construct life just as much as they constrain it.
And we invented them both.
Does that trap us or free us?
It is not too late.

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