16 June 2025

And so, . . . here we go again.

Another day; another $; another day of legal snakes &. ladders.

Still, it could be worse — a lot worse.

I’ve my health; I’ve the good fortune to spend time doing things I love; and I’ve time outwith work to reconnect with something of a higher order (not that I spend much time thinking about these things).

But I’d be lying if I didn’t think about some of the wrong turns that’s taken me to this point in my life.

Did I expect it to be any different?

If I’m honest, aged 20 et al., I never gave it much thought.

In fact, I don’t think anyone thinks about their own life staring into the breach of the unknown. If we’ve any markers, they’re of someone else’s life — e.g. grandparents and family friends.

It’s about this stage in my day (06:00), I start to read poetry.

Today is no exception:

The Hollow Men
by T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz-he dead
            A penny for the Old Guy

                        I

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar
   
    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
   
    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.

I know this a war poem but when I read this first verse, it encapsulates so very much.

Anyhow, enjoy your day.

Take care,

Julian

Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash