Obstruction (Holding Together)
Chien, or my understanding of it, is my obstruction. This difficulty, by definition, is impassible. Without a mirror, eyes cannot see themselves; a story cannot write its own ending; after a suicide, both the loved and the hated may continue to comment on the reasons or lack of them. The irresistible missile hits the indestructible wall again, and, funny thing, the missile isn’t irresistible. Therefore, as though logic had any pertinence, we examine our premises, retrace our steps, pretending that a life can be reordered by force of will, cut again like a deck of cards to give us another chance. We know better. But we believe we learn from our mistakes. I bide my time, pulling myself together, letting time dissolve the blinders of experience, reconsidering “it happened to me,” as if I had any other choice.