The Whole Business of Face-Making
I knew proactive to be a futile word, a hollow attempt of making absolute the reality that would never be. Life was being personified before us, taken to a further dimension of existence where everything was given a spatial tension of color and form. It was through no effort, no fault of our own. Inexplicable at best. I was reactive. I could only watch.
I existed parallel to others’ thoughts, others’ experience. The even charts of salvation and damnation took root in my positioning, and I felt the inertia. My God, My God! I even felt the numbness.
I was in the center of the room, feeling horribly, horribly lost.
Happily, happily alone.