Is it somehow wrong to say I am waiting for the End?
I feel like we are somehow in the midst of Act II, waiting for the intermission and what will be a complete change in the plot. We all know the intermission is coming and Act III will start soon, but we also know that we have to plod through the end of Act II to get intermission and Act III.
As I write this, the breeze of Spring is blowing through my window - it is still cool enough here; Summer has yet to take its annual grip on the season. The sun is reflecting off the cars in the driveway and comes dappled through the blowing leaves into the house. There is pizza in the oven. My small bubble of the world has a sense of peace and contentment: Poppy the Brave lays in her chair and looks out the window, A the Mighty strides about in his catlike way, now looking out the window hopefully for birds to stalk, and I-Bun and Joy sit quietly after eating a bit of dinner, thinking whatever thoughts rabbits think on the world and the inanities of it.
And yet, I sit here in certainly what feels like a Fin de siècle (a fancy French world for "End of the Century").
Others have said it far better than I, but I no longer feel at home here - in this city, in this state, in this country, really in this civilization.
I am sure that some would say that it is simply some sort of failure on my part; that I have "refused to change with the times" or "refused to embrace the new world". And I suppose that sort of thing could be said to be true, to a certain extent - although to be fair, the time should also concede that they must be worth changing to and the new world give reasons for it to be embraced.
But the isolation - can I use that word? - is deeper than simple not belonging in a place or civilization. There is a real sense that I simply do not belong here.
I have no more interests in crusades of righteousness or right thinking. I have no more interest in right the wrongs of the world (I have lived long enough to know one man's wrongs are another man's corrects). I have no really interest in dedication to ideals beyond my God and my tribe and my martial art and preservation of my land not only from those who would develop it, but from those who in their zeal for preservation would deny me from it.
I consider myself repaid in this, of course, by a society that demands crusades, righting of wrongs, a definition (growing ever smaller) of what is "permitted" and what is "forbidden". This world, this country, this city have done nothing to reach out to me in return except in ever more demanding language of what I must do, what I must believe, and how I must act.
I am done.
I find myself a citizen of nowhere, any more. This place I live is only a place to dwell. Were it to be overcome in fire or flood or invasion or civil unrest I would perhaps shed a tear for those I know impacted by it, but not for the edifice itself.
At some point - be it relationships, old hobbies or beliefs that no longer fit our life style, or simply the dead - we have to let go and move on.
Oddly enough, our society and our world feels that in this sort of letting go, they should be the one thing that is clutched on to until the very end.