eclipse

I sit and wait for the world to be plunged into darkness. 

It occurred to me that I dress for the occasion, wear an inconspicuously conspicuous London fog trench like something out of a comic book so that trouble might find me but I was unable to muster the disguise in my haste. Even If the symbolic effort was not enough to draw out the adventure I sought, the thought of fashioning myself as some sort of Constantine was enticing. A private joke for my own personal amusement if not a proverbial "fake it until you make it", a concept notably more complex when "making it" denotes  something out of Buffy the vampire slayer. 

The sun is obscured by nothing but cloud cover so far, the occupants of the cafe are mostly dichotomous, either elderly or young and well dressed, the kind to wear flared yoga pants and take their books with an iced matcha, an endearing picture of youth. 

Taking a sip of my latte with a flippant swipe of my cursor I skimmed images of antiquity, engravings of omen and eclipse, blurbs on how ancient people thought the reprieve of the sun to be a cursed occasion tinged with the hubristic contemporary sentiment that "we know better now". Though my attitudes of such events are not Roman by way of superstition, I don't sterilize the matter entirely. There is still something sacred and symbolic about false night. 

The feeling that I have to be standing at just the right angle beneath obscured sun to undergo metamorphosis is unshakable, like I might miss an obvious cosmic sign by the hand of an ill fated and ironic circumstance. For now, I chronicle my experiences and think of new ones in hopes that I might eventually happen upon... something, eager to jam my foot into any ajar metaphysical door. I have two completely warring and separate aspects of the self, my rational mind, the part of me that moves through the motions necessary of me, the epidermis of the human experience. Then, there is the one who is shadowy and subversively compelled by abstractions like myth and archetype. The part of me that drives me out of my chambers at night in search of meaning in the form of a stranger with haunting eyes, that yearns for a glimpse beyond the curtain of mundanity and claws at its threshold in the pitiable nature of a loyal dog left out in the rain.  These parts of me have long been off kilter, off balance in a way that has me dangerously suspended in my own personal limbo. The clouds obscure the sun, the gods conceal the auspice.  we will see which part of me eclipses the other.