The leaves do not seem to be ready to fade. However, by the end of September, they should already have a sense of the end. There are some of these unblemished autumns and this one may be one of them. The antlers will turn brown and will be bald by one or two gusts of wind. The next day, it will snow and we will not yet have our boots at our feet.
But am I just impatient to get rid of this summer of American vinegar? The political time is grey… Even hard-core Quebeckers are involved in bondage and clientelism.
It’s the autumn of my 59th birthday. The government recently reminded me in a letter how much I will have in retirement. Unless there is a miracle, I will be miserable. Let’s get this straight, misery is a matter of debate. I know how to live a little. I have lived on credit for a long time, but this is no longer the case despite the obstinate calls of the sirens.
I take care to respect my light, to recognize that of others. I am willing to give up everything as long as the balance between nausea and appetite survives. Let us remember Marcus Aurelius:
And remember again that everyone lives only in the present, this infinitely small one. The rest is either already lived or uncertain. Minimal is, therefore, the moment that each one lives, minimal the corner where he lives it, minimal also the longest posthumous glory. And even then, does it exist only through a succession of little men, who will barely die, who do not know themselves, much less the man who has been dead for a long time.
How nothing changes in this labyrinthine world! What was written 1600 years ago had already been said even longer ago. Have we made any progress on this side? I cannot judge. I am humbly ignorant.
Again this of Marcus Aurelius, this “good” Caesar (everything is relative, he still slaughtered slaves):
We are looking for retreats in the countryside, by the sea, in the mountains; and you too are used to desiring these kinds of things at the highest level. But all this shows a great simplicity of mind, because one can, at any time of the day or night of one’s choice, withdraw into oneself. Nowhere is there a more peaceful retreat, more free of worries, than in his soul, especially when it contains these goods on which it is enough to lean to recover immediately all his comfort; and by comfort, I mean nothing other than the state of a well-ordered soul.
Quickly my flashlight, I’m looking for my inner treasure.