What might have been and what has been / Point to one end, which is always present. / Footfalls echo in the memory / Down the passage which we did not take / Towards the door we never opened. ~TS Eliot
We are often circumspect about our situation. Wondering what could have been. Living in the shadows of our decisions that loom large, and the haunting presence of our past, a hovering silhouette. We toil in the burning embers of regret, and we wear the weight of the present like an unintended consequence.
To what end?
Shift the frames and it becomes a laughable contrite. The reality succumbs in its own weight because, really, what is it all for? You wish philosophy was not as muddled and self-help not as trite. Somewhere, you could find your middle and cocoon, where you could rest and just be.
Many a men choose to ignore and stay oblivious. When you are not them, you know it soon enough. That incessant chatter inside is sufficient. And you find yourself often at odds, but more often, in close cahoots with that doppelgänger.
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