Thursday

A week later, May 14, another Thursday in eternity, 

another drop in the oceanic,

in the absolute center of the Universe, 

Brooklyn, New York.

The day is still undefined and indeterminate,

except for the mere fact that it is 62 degrees Fahrenheit

and mostly sunny, and its name is Thursday. 

This Thursday afternoon is empty and I try to fill it with words.

Please.

No good?

You’re faking it. You know that.

Maybe I don’t have anything to say. Maybe I don’t have anything to say because there isn’t much to me.

No, there isn’t much to you, but there is SOMETHING. You could say SOMETHING. Something honest, I mean.

That is too hard.

What have you got there?

You mean this notebook?

Yes, that notebook. Read something from that notebook. Read what you last wrote, whatever it is, even if it’s a shopping list or, God Forbid, a dream account.

Ok, but this will probably be embarrassing.

Excellent! All the better!

He opens the spiral bound notebook and reads:

I am doing a high wire act. I have limited funds. Not enough money coming in as my financial resources, mainly one bank account, is slowly drained, drop by drop, and will probably be empty too soon. I am afraid of running out of money, not being able to pay rent, getting evicted, becoming homeless, etc., and I am afraid to look at the bank account that is my principle resource in the same way that someone walking on a high wire does not look down for fear that the sight of the ground far below will trigger vertigo and loss of balance and the fall.

Are you really going to run out of money “soon?” You were pretty frugal even before the enforced frugality of the quarantine and now you only buy essential groceries and never eat take out, and you cook for yourself. Can’t you keep at it for another year?

Maybe, but what then? I’ll be 67 and broke. 

So you’re afraid?

I want to live by faith, so that the purpose, the end I desire to attain is itself the means to attain that end — the end is realizing itself as a painting realizes itself in the attentive labor I put into it. I want that kind of vision, inspiration, and creation, to provide the way —I want to have faith, I want to believe —

Like Fox Mulder?

Eh! Go ahead and scoff. I believe, but unbelief still dogs me. I need courage, if not encouragement.  And I need a good sense of balance.

Are these your prayer requests?

Yes, Father. Bless me.

Who Am I? The Wizard of Oz?

If you were, would you say I already have what I’m asking for? Faith? Courage? Balance?

Remember what the chicken said when asked why it crossed the road.

What?

“Je suis Perdue.”