The Opposite of All of This

In the final scene of my novel, A Strong Sense of Place, I use the phrase “Opposite of All of This”. In the book, it had to do with the cosmology of a polarized universe, a universe of paired-opposites. Right now, in my own house, in my own bed, in my own head and quite possibly out of my fucking mind, at long last (Inevitables should be a source of comfort, not fear) I arrive at my own internal yin and yang.

Face to face with a realization that threatens to halt my own internal Tic and Toc.

What if you wake up one day and realize that the opposite description of yourself, in the right light and from the right incident angle, suits you just as well as the original self-description? What if the bucolic spirit you’ve clung to for so long is just my internal City Mouse doing some dreaming? Contrapositively, what if my Urbane Man persona is hayseed trussed up in Prada because comfort comes to the simple in normalcy?

What if the Wisher is really just a Taker? The Dreamer just a Procrastinator?

What if mild-mannered-me is just high-strung-but-ethereally-so?

What if my Beginner’s Mind exercises are really just templatized preambles to the same old mindset?

What if my nagging need for syncretization is just imperiousness disguised?

What if my believed-to-be-genuine desktop confessional is just an apposite form of special pleading, like Christian prayer?

And what is the apposite of all this?

Its opposite, I fear.

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