And remember again that everyone lives only in the present

The leaves do not seem to be ready to fade. How­ev­er, by the end of Sep­tem­ber, they should already have a sense of the end. There are some of these unblem­ished autumns and this one may be one of them. The antlers will turn brown and will be bald by one or two gusts of wind. The next day, it will snow and we will not yet have our boots at our feet.

But am I just impa­tient to get rid of this sum­mer of Amer­i­can vine­gar ? The polit­i­cal time is grey… Even hard-core Que­beck­ers are involved in bondage and clientelism.

It’s the autumn of my 59th birth­day. The gov­ern­ment recent­ly remind­ed me in a let­ter how much I will have in retire­ment. Unless there is a mir­a­cle, I will be mis­er­able. Let’s get this straight, mis­ery is a mat­ter of debate. I know how to live a lit­tle. I have lived on cred­it for a long time, but this is no longer the case despite the obsti­nate calls of the sirens.

I take care to respect my light, to rec­og­nize that of oth­ers. I am will­ing to give up every­thing as long as the bal­ance between nau­sea and appetite sur­vives. Let us remem­ber Mar­cus Aurelius :

And remem­ber again that every­one lives only in the present, this infi­nite­ly small one. The rest is either already lived or uncer­tain. Min­i­mal is, there­fore, the moment that each one lives, min­i­mal the cor­ner where he lives it, min­i­mal also the longest posthu­mous glo­ry. And even then, does it exist only through a suc­ces­sion of lit­tle men, who will bare­ly die, who do not know them­selves, much less the man who has been dead for a long time.

How noth­ing changes in this labyrinthine world ! What was writ­ten 1600 years ago had already been said even longer ago. Have we made any progress on this side ? I can­not judge. I am humbly ignorant.

Again this of Mar­cus Aure­lius, this “good” Cae­sar (every­thing is rel­a­tive, he still slaugh­tered slaves):

We are look­ing for retreats in the coun­try­side, by the sea, in the moun­tains ; and you too are used to desir­ing these kinds of things at the high­est lev­el. But all this shows a great sim­plic­i­ty of mind, because one can, at any time of the day or night of one’s choice, with­draw into one­self. Nowhere is there a more peace­ful retreat, more free of wor­ries, than in his soul, espe­cial­ly when it con­tains these goods on which it is enough to lean to recov­er imme­di­ate­ly all his com­fort ; and by com­fort, I mean noth­ing oth­er than the state of a well-ordered soul.

Quick­ly my flash­light, I’m look­ing for my inner treasure.