The timing could not have been better.
And now the immense loneliness begins???
An new adventure is always a new sort of loneliness. We become alien to ourselves when we pursue life from a novel perspective. And time has become the vanishing point for these lines that I trace upon the screen of my daily life.
Rilke says it best:
You are not surprised at the force of the storm— you have seen it growing. The trees flee. Their flight sets the boulevards streaming. And you know: he whom they flee is the one you move toward. All your senses sing him, as you stand at the window.
The weeks stood still in summer. The trees’ blood rose. Now you feel it wants to sink back into the source of everything. You thought you could trust that power when you plucked the fruit: now it becomes a riddle again and you again a stranger.
Summer was like your house: you know where each thing stood. Now you must go out into your heart as onto a vast plain. Now the immense loneliness begins.
The days go numb, the wind sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.
Through the empty branches the sky remains. It is what you have. Be earth now, and evensong. Be the ground lying under that sky. Be modest now, like a thing ripened until it is real, so that he who began it all can feel you when he reaches for you.
("Onto a Vast Plain" by Rainer Maria Rilke)
And so, unsurprised by the un-surmised aspects of life, I set out once again like Theseus' ship. Every part of my life has been replaced by another over the course of time. Still myself, I have become new.