"For a long time I used to go to bed early. Sometimes, when I had put out my candle, my eyes would close so quickly that I had not even time to say 'I'm going to sleep.' And half an hour later the thought that it was time to go to sleep would awaken me; I would try to put away the book which, I imagined, was still in my hands, and to blow out the light; I had been thinking all the time, while I was asleep, of what I had just been reading, but my thoughts had run into a channel of their own, until I myself seemed actually to have become the subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between Francois I and Charles V. This impression would persist for some moments after I was awake; it did not disturb my mind, but it lay like scales upon my eyes and prevented them from registering the fact that the candle was no longer burning. Then it would begin to seem unintelligible, as the thoughts of a former existence must be to a reincarnate spirit; the subject of my book would separate itself from me, leaving me free to choose whether I would form part of it or no; and at the same time my sight would return and I would be astonished to find myself in a state of darkness, pleasant and restful for the eyes, and even more, perhaps, for my mind, to which it appeared incomprehensible, without a cause, a matter dark indeed."
Marcel Proust, Swann's Way, p. 1
For some time now it seems that I've been in a state of darkness; not darkness as in a state of despair, but rather in a crepuscular world between waking and dreaming. Essentially, I think I've been floating, and not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely floating. Maybe it's the realization that it's the close of another year, and this time of the season makes everyone reflective. I also have another birthday closing in hard upon me, and at 56 it's the beginning of the close of my 50s. Certainly, it's indicative of one of my traditional problems, the inability to just be and to enjoy life. In a previous life a crazy British girl made it her quest to try and get me to just relax and live in the moment, and she was at least partially successful because I'm much better than I used to be (which was sort of like the Woody Allen character from Annie Hall who opined that if someone somewhere was having a bad time it ruined the whole thing for him [I'm paraphrasing, obviously]).
Nevertheless, I'm definitely going through one of those Henderson the Rain King stretches where all I hear my heart saying is "I want I want I want." Now, what do I want? Well, to start off with, I guess I need to start completing some of my goals. I've been talking about my book on the epics for a few years now, and I'm devoting a lot more time to research and writing than ever before. Still, I need to be more structured in my approach. I'm never going to get it finished if I continue to approach it so haphazardly. Similarly, although in a less specific but more profound way, I'm trying to sort out my feeling about Islam. For a couple years now I've been brooding over the notion of converting. Certainly the 50s seem like high time to get your relationship with the divine sorted out. I'll have more to say about this soon, doubtless. Faith has always come hard to me, although I'm a spiritual person in many ways. This is probably another one of those instances where my authority issues have held me back. I guess it's been a long quest to find the religion that works for me. Once again, more on this later.
OK, so those are two pretty big topics, which transcend my professional and personal lives. And here's another one, although it doesn't begin to measure up in seriousness. For around a decade I've been talking about reading all of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, and I'm finally going to tackle it. I tried to interest several of my friends with the idea of reading it together and meeting once a week for coffee and discussion - and that went nowhere. It may be the biggest factor that pushed Heidi Steiner-Burkhardt out of the state. So, in the absence of a reading/discussion partner, I guess I'll use the blog to serve that purpose. My goal is to finish all seven volumes that comprise the work and include daily or weekly commentary. I thought about calling it My Summer With Proust, but realized that with my other projects I'd never get it all finished in a summer, so then it became a yearly project. I envision it as part reflection on Proust, but also part personal reflection. A matter dark indeed. I have no idea where it is going, but I guess I'll just follow along - and maybe, just maybe, I might learn something about myself.
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