Our spacetimes | Guy Verville
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Our spacetimes

Last week, I fixed the last of the moldings in the hallway. My renovations have been a bit of a laughing stock because they have been dragging on for 10 years. In the beginning, it was going well, I was using the money I received from the sale of the condo. Then, with the slowdown in my self-employment activities, and the transition to employment in a company, the multiple responsibilities, financial stabilization, but especially the age, oh, the age, construction became a long-term project. It will have had its drawbacks and its advantages. What is not done with haste is more likely to be built solidly and intelligently.

After I installed these moldings, my view of the apartment changed. Last weekend, I took the opportunity to change the direction of the bed. I brought the elliptical back into the bedroom. The living room has two armchairs; I have a table in the dining room, although it’s not ideal. In fact, nothing is perfect yet; too many things are missing. Not everything is built. I can still make a lot of people laugh.

I feel that I have completed the spaces where I live, spaces that still belong to the bank—I have 15 more years to pay if I don’t die before then—in short, I feel that I have appropriated my dimensions. It’s a bit difficult to express, a bit like realizing the tangible nature of the place where I live. Things are my own size, created, chiseled by me. As a result, my breath has calmed down, my gaze has somehow become silent. And because I become aware of these spaces, time itself seems to shrink, to go relatively faster. I tell myself that what I possess is only worthless sand in my hands. I could leave tomorrow. That’s Jacques, my father, all spit, I think. I could also say that I have the Moon and Jupiter in Sagittarius and that the Sun and Mercury are in sector IX, home of Jupiter. That will only tell a few people something. Let’s say that Jupiter is the achievement in growth, the elsewhere, all forward.

I’ve always had this taste for leaving, for being somewhere else, for running away, for not putting down roots.

When an adventurer doesn’t have the carelessness or the courage to leave his port, he ends up procrastinating, forgetting himself. I’m glad I’m not the type to get lost in drugs or alcohol because my mind is still getting impatient. It has regained its thirst to read, to understand, to juggle with reality. It wants to dive again into the ocean of time, this variable dimension which, according to physicists, contracts on contact with matter and also expands towards infinity when space elapses.

The dilemma is rooted in this happiness that I am experiencing. I certainly cannot complain. Things are going well, friends are doing well, and I seem to have my place, at least I live the illusion of it.

We roll our little bodies, we deform spacetime around us, around beings, themselves with their deforming gravity, getting caught in the bosom of our gravity, or we let ourselves be swallowed up by their more imposing attraction. Our nested universes add up to those of a company, a country, sometimes a planet. Time becomes variable, escapes us because it passes too quickly in front of our enormous eyes, tragedies, and anxieties hatch like determined volcanoes. The more our dimensions are aggregated, the more predictable we become. When we turn our attention to our singular density, time and all its possibilities can have the impact of a deafening concert that dazes us, intoxicating and and destabilizing us.

Before yesterday, I dreamt that I die, but not just anyhow. My soul migrated in a white cushion in front of me. Maybe that’s how mankind lives?

I could conclude with that famous cliché that I’m at a crossroads. Come to think of it, we’re always on a road full of intersections. So the crossroads are within walking distance.

Time might be the direction of space. When you care too much about material things, you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. It’s no wonder that autonomous cars are springing up. Elan Musk is the next messiah. The moment we sit, breathe, lie down on a pallet, time catches up with us. We brake suddenly, sometimes with a prodigious, intolerable heave-ho, because time becomes this unexplored and precious region again. It somehow thickens, becomes final.

Taking back control of the road, accepting to change space, dimensions, is a noble adventure. Perhaps useless, but noble.

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