I am going to know what passing time feels like again. Writing these morning pages, keeping track of dates and days, will promote this knowledge. This morning, for example (and what if I ever reread what I write here?), I was up at 6a.m., sitting down at my desk shortly after. There’s some kind of first light, but basically it’s still quite dark. The streetlights are on – that must mean something, right? And in most of the houses I can see far below me, the lights are out. Although, come to think on it, that might just mean people are up a) without the lights on; or b) limiting artificial light to the one room they’re in, and it happens not to face in my direction. Or maybe they’re unemployed or underemployed or simply don’t need to get up at the crack of dawn to get to whatever is on their agendas for the day.
Of course the commuter traffic is roaring right along on E.-Street, but that’s a different breed: the people who think they’re thoroughbreds perhaps, or who want to think they’re jockeys who maneuver the x-number of horsepower engines, when in reality it is they who are in harness.
At the horizon, on the now slightly brightening sky, there’s a band of rugged clouds, sort of like feldspar (I imagine a band of feldspar would be jagged and rough), albeit in the most solemn hues of baby blue. It’s a landscape – a skyscape. It’s cold, turned cold during the night, and the heat kicked on.
Last night I ventured out to the Jungian study group. It was …interesting. A bunch of somewhat odd people, but not unsympatico. We were sixteen, including the facilitator. I think quite a few of us hadn’t read the book, or rather, the assigned chapter. I hadn’t, even though the book arrived in time, was here when we got back last Thursday. Consequently, the discussion was kind of all over the place, flaky. Most of the people there were older – maybe half were my age and up. There were a few “younger” ones, too. One man struck me initially as being perhaps only in his 30s, but when he spoke I realized his good looks belied what I found to be his seriously limited intelligence. Or maybe how ideologically obstructed and occluded and befuddled whatever intelligence he possessed was. And, looking at his hands more closely, I realized he must be at least ten years older than I initially assumed. It’s amazing how good genes and looks can initially fool.
I want to go back, but it turns out the next meeting will conflict with another New York City trip. No-brainer which option I’ll choose: Jungian study group or Manhattan? D’uh.