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.
image: Cueva de los Manos