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Now that I find myself in search of lost time

I am routined enough to recognize the many threads of life and how they contrive its tissue into a steady, sturdy design that, blessed with a stroke of luck during assembly, makes sense at least to myself, to accept distraction as an intrinsic part of the weaving but I am not entirely convinced of its beneficial influence on the final fabric.

This is why I try to write these lines first thing in the morning, before other lives awaken, too happy about the appurtenant state of strenuous concentration it usually entails to take any chance of it being sidetracked by apparent necessities, or by beauty for that matter, to me potentially the biggest distractor imaginable.

To fully reclaim something you presumably lost, having faked good riddance but covertly longed for its remarkable reappearance, it takes time to truly trust its infinity so I feel it deserves this kind of protection. If I am truly honest, my current hunger to write only vaguely parallels with previous efforts and attempts, all based in pleasure and proclaimed prowess as well, but definitely descending from an incomparable compulsion, so there’s less legroom for external intrusion anyway. But now that I find myself in search of lost time, it doesn’t hurt to be wary.

In Homer’s Odyssey, rather unknown territory for me as, like a devilish deviation, I have always felt more of a connection with the prose and poetry of the Edda, the nymph Calypso attempts to keep the fabled Greek hero Odysseus on her island to make him her immortal husband. Her name became synonymous with derivation, a thorough one apparently, since it took at least seven years for Odysseus to return to his wife Penelope.The etymology of Calypso’s name however points to a translation that reads ‘concealing the knowledge’, which channels a lot more of her attractiveness and is probably more in line with her pretense.

Growing next to the cat cave, my current preferred writing location, one of the eight varieties of Passiflora we cultivate at Les Pierres is named after this mythical temptress, underlining the above reference gloriously. A beauty like hers can never be a distraction, but instead provides me with a purpose to write.

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