Wednesday, 13 February 2013

Still thinking about that apocalypse

It's not just me, is it? We're all sitting around, in our houses and tents and vans and garrets, thinking about the end of the world. I like the thought; I wear the thought over and over again like a jaunty hat to mark me out from the crowd as Trouble. It just seems, when it gets down to all this, like such a relief.

I have seen the Tibetan bhavacakra and thought about that—my life, existence, all—being yet another thing that needs to keep on going. A wheel that is ripe with consequences as the apple of Eve, a succulent thing, but don't you know that sometimes we make mistakes and the thought of karma feeding the chops back endlessly is surely such a bitch?

So, in the apocalypse, do you think it will rain fish from the sky? Do you think there will be fire? On the whole, do you think of the apocalypse as a hot time or a cold time, and if it was up to you, which would you make it? In fact, yes, let's think about that for a second: if it was up to you, my love, how would the apocalypse sound?

Let's lie under these fluffy white clouds and think about it, and maybe the guy up there will be listening, taking notes, jotting things down in his endless scroll.

Would you like the apocalypse to go bang? Would you like to hear cracking of the earth, crunching, molars grinding the plates of the planet to dust? How far would you go to save the world, if saving the world somehow became a thing that fell to your responsibility? Would you play the hero? How do you feel about the word swashbuckle?

I am going to be honest: I like it. Even though I am afraid of the world and all of karma and the prospect of so many rebirths, I am still excited about the thought of playing the hero, and you know what? I think that I would.

Yes. I have been sitting here in my silk gown and evening shoes, waiting for the party, for the debutantes to arrive, thinking about the apocalypse, wondering what I'd do. I would find a large scythe and stand tall with it and slay down the dragons that had started this troublemaking. I would push, with two feeble hands, the earth towards itself, if it started to split open, if that was a thing that somebody had to do.

I would do what I could, and not for all the rewards (although, of course, we do all love a sweet reward) but rather because I have grown, over the years, rather fond of this place and the options it has to offer. And besides, starting again for sure would be a tricky, terrible idea.

Imagine how hard you would have to try to breathe. Imagine the sights you would see that could remind you of this time and make your sad eyes sob. I wouldn't mind so much the rebirth; the problem would be more the small shadows that catch your eyes and look like something, anything, from the past. You would see them and catch your breath and flicker a figment of a memory. And then you would roll your eyes and walk on and continue about the day.

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