The past makes me
much happier than the future, because it’s not nearly as scary. What happened there, horrific as it
might have been, has already happened.
Though a new light may be shed on things long past and in our minds
decided (new Minoan palaces dug out from a thyme-scented hillside in the west
of Crete; lost plays by Shakespeare uncovered under floorboards; a love child
of some virgin queen traced through a line of DNA—or letters—or a cryptic
record in a parish church), it mostly can’t hurt us, can’t send us toppling
into a dizzying unknown.
It’s in the yet
uncharted seas of what might be coming at us, beyond our least control, that
monsters swarm.
I’m perfectly
content to linger in the deepest caves of Lascaux, El Castillo, Sulawesi, Argentina, marveling at the mystery of the painted animals there in the dark, bringing
the rocks to life; the mystery after all familiar and as true to me as my hand
print.
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image: Cueva de los Manos
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