Mirror in the Aether

V

And now to labour. After the first reflection period there are tasks to complete. Miniature rituals of repetition. If the preparatory physical routine prepares the mind and the lecture feeds it so that the reflection period is a means to digest, then the labour period is a means to do little but tread water. Staying afloat to keep the dread and panic at bay as I clean and arrange and polish and fiddle. Once I'm occupied with the tasks at hand and I find that low hum of satisfying peace that comes with the realisation of simple achievement I find the most coveted state of all. My mind can be free of the brutal pressure of finding answers and processing. My mind is free to drift as I, in corporeal form, am free to drift.

I think about when I was golden and my idea of myself was complete. You never know that that was how you regarded things at the time. It's only when things have changed significantly and you can demarcate the passage of time by some self-significant quantification that you look back and see that in fact you were strong and young and noble. Less weak and tainted than you told yourself at the time. When you were occupied with your limitations and completely ignoring the possibilities and potential that was right there within your reach and means. I really thought I knew the limits. I used to craft entire worlds in thought and dream. Great towering structures that spoke to impervious leadership and immutable ideals. I would dream freely about beautiful pillars upon stately plinths and gothic arches and elaborate windows. The visual marks of civilisation. Wondrous visions to inspire and shame. To make people follow and obey, to make them know their place beneath the looming shadows of unquestionable leadership. Even in youth I craved some kind of glory. Not personal so much as the glory of something great, something vast and ever-reaching, something so enormous that it could be believed.

I know that I'm giving in to the temptation of time. Rose tainted introspection and nostalgia. The decisions I made and the preoccupations I had were all I could muster in the moment. The greatest human lie is applying the faculties and sensibilities of the bitter present to the false joys of the past. It's an indulgence and a pleasure to wallow in fantasy. If only I knew then what I was capable of now. Glorious nonsense. I was a scared kid and I think you have to know what you've lost before you realise it's time to do what you can, whatever it is. But dreaming is always more attractive than duty, and while duty is the great force of grounding, dreaming is pure freedom.

My mother used to tell me that my father would be disappointed if I didn't tend to my duties. She would ensure that I always knew that there was work to be done and I had to do it. There was always something to do and never a sense that it could all be completed. She was forever tending to her own duties which were purely social. She met with people, she knew them, and she was known. She made sure that she met them and she made sure that they knew who she was. She would tell them of each other and try to convince them each that she was the conduit between them and the others, their meetings and the means of their meeting. 

A tapestry of reputation and impression and perception. A fallacy and nonsense that coexisted with our lives. I was forever to tend to my duties and she to hers. If I wanted to tell her something she would hear it but she wouldn't listen. I had so many young and excited ideas that I would rush through my duties just so that I could hurry along the chance to tell her. I still picture her face as I reeled off what I had conceived and she looked right through me before reminding me of what had to be done, be that her duties or mine.

My father was a recluse when he wasn't posted somewhere. Preoccupied and distant, literally and figuratively. He was forever wrapped up in some great problem. A man of logic and method and a highly trained solver of problems. Logistics, strategy, intelligence, and fixes for broken ideas and faulty solutions. The idea of provoking his disappointment was less because of some sacred devotion to duty. My father was not a man of duty. My mother knew it and lived it, but my father knew only problems and if I disappointed him, I would snatch his attention from his problem to his son. And then I would become the problem. I didn't want to be my mother's duty or my father's problem.

My mother was an imposing figure, with an overall image which belied her fine features and delicate profile. The suggestion of something petit beneath a carefully crafted presentation, consistently immaculate. Deftly lined eyes and muted tones which matched the strength and presence of her daily aesthetic. Everything about her was calculated and the overall effect was a charismatic terror rising to the occasion and masterfully placed at the forefront of every engagement.

My father was a stout man with furrowed brow and greying beard. His weathered face a perplexity for he was rarely exposed to the elements. With the coiled and considered strength of a practical man. If he had a signature look I can't remember it now. If he had a presence it was a low hum, almost peaceful but possibly guarding some overdue release. He was quiet and laconic and I'm not sure if I ever said that much to him before I was entrusted to the guilds.

My parents met at an industry event of some undefined nature. A conference or symposium for hybrid technologies and portmanteau disciplines. A rubbing of shoulders and empty networking. Glazed eyes and passive nods, biding time until pitches could be made to sell the self and endlessly promote meaningless non-profession. The individual as a barely-self, barely-contained corporate entity. Each and every-one a billboard.

As lead for an inter-industry project, my father had status, and I'm sure my mother was looking to boost her own. Or maybe his subdued and stoic practicality could have been read as something genuine in that sickening world of self-involvement and self-aggrandisement. Maybe she caught his eye, with her striking features, sharp and stern but glamorous. For a man predisposed to function and efficiency, my mother was a vision of both. Whatever it was and however it happened, they started there as they were to go on. She acting the host delivering her lines and taking what she needed to get what she wanted, he the overseer behind the scenes keeping the cogs turning.

As much as a child knows of their parents, as much as they understand who they are and why, it's only when the child grows to adulthood that they can place their knowledge in context. Maturity means acknowledging what you've always known, that which was inherent and that which was hard won empirically, and then you can find the confidence to speak in terms of subjective absolutes. I can analyse my own self and I know that my dreams are built in the image of my mother and father. They are the inspiration and the impetus. As a child I craved their attention and it was never to come because I needed to make them crave mine. I had to build a world for them to exist. What else would I do but build worlds in my head?

My labour is coming to conclusion. I've swept and polished the deck and cleaned the surfaces and completed the practical maintenance checks. As my hands turn the scars glint in the light. A reflection of an image that speaks to the electric buzz of adrenaline and curious pervasiveness. The heavy thud of a body and the viscous quality of congealing blood. The pain of dislocated knuckles and the sting of lacerated skin. The profound satisfaction of the complete submission to primal indulgence. The only time I have existed in pure state.

Life is one great construction and the moment you topple it the true self is revealed and It is terrible and all-potent. There is no greater power than is found in the act of taking. To make is passive but to take is purity. I ascended to an apex that revealed all I had made and all it could lead to and so I saw that I had to destroy it all so that I could be free to take everything away and I know that I'd do it again.