March 6
To sober up, to come back to yourself, to wake: to recognise that it was dreams that tormented you — and now, awake, to look at what is here as you looked at those.
Meditations VI.31 (freely rendered)
Listening mode
To sober up, to come back to yourself, to wake: to recognise that it was dreams that tormented you — and now, awake, to look at what is here as you looked at those.
Sometimes you come across an old note in which you are worrying about something you barely remember. The tone is urgent; one sentence is underlined twice. You read it with a certain gentleness, almost as if someone else had written it.
It is tempting to carry that gentleness over to whatever is occupying you today. But it comes from a knowledge you don’t have right now. With the old note, you know the outcome. You know that the matter was settled, well or less well, and that you went on living afterwards. Today’s worry has no ending yet from which you could look back on it.
There is something less comfortable, too. The worry back then wasn’t imagined either. It was real; it just took up more room than it was due. It didn’t grow smaller because it disappeared, but because other things found room beside it again.
Today you can’t pretend you are already reading tomorrow’s note. But you can notice what is lying beside the worry right now, hidden by it. None of that appeared in the old note.
