Mí Athruithe

As part of my own personal rote of discipline, I have committed myself to keeping some kind of record of where I am at the four periods of the moon. That being said, I have no idea where to start with anything else. As per usual, there are no less than six books bouncing around in my head and any number of posts, but what gets made a reality is another matter altogether.

I am not complaining in any way: an Damh and I had a brilliant day playing video games together. Tomorrow I imagine that I will be hating my skiving soul as I will have twice if not four times as much work to do in getting my grades finalized for the deadline. I can’t be bothered, though, as the relief that I feel from my students is simply too grand to be explained. Freed from the incessant battery of minds inured to modern culture I feel myself breaking the bonds of normalcy and allowing myself the luxury of reillusionment. The ‘real’ is plastic and derivative. Beauty is the only fixed point, despite its inherent relativity.

This month, more than any that I can recall, is shaping up to be … something else. The new moon saw me in a heightened state, and I am itching to break out of the normalcy and complacency that has sprung up in my heart’s garden. Duileóg feels it too, and opportunities flicker at the borders. I’ve not followed any up as yet, though. I meant to have done some drawing for an idea that Loscrend had for a children’s book this evening. I meant to have written a great deal of revolutionary ideas as well, not to mention going for a run. Instead, I spent a great deal of time enjoying being with my young children and wallowing in the feeling of possibility carried by the wet, December rain and gently insistent wind. It feels like things are changing far down in the depths of life, however, and I am very glad of it.

Whatever danger may accompany it, I dearly love the wild and unexpected. I would say that I welcome calamity so long as it lifts life out of the mediocre and common, but this really just emphasizes my own willingness to acquiesce to the complacency. It is high time that I stop allowing myself to compromise. Here I am, loving and idolizing Cyrano de Bergerac for just his lack of compromise (though I own this to be a problematic sensibility) and yet ever allowing to into my own life.

This month I will take as it seems to be coming and seize the change as it takes hold. It is time to stop living shadows and excuses, particularly as almost a year ago to the day I walked into the meeting that began my expulsion from the path whereon I thought that I had found my true and best calling at long last. Cumhact ‘s Áilleacht.

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