Springtime. The geist. Not an auspicious season for the son of man. Not just whistlin' Dixie here. The social forms come alive, and play their games, incidental and otherwise. Rough sailing for the SS Hostem Humanem Generis.
(The definite article in "the son of man" indicates not the singular instance (which would properly be another) but the thing itself.)
Thinking of Skopje. I happened into a rental of a small set of rooms from a local priest, theology professor and philosopher and his wife -- excellent people. Small, charming place with the exception of the noisy school across the street. But the UN had a mission next door, so it was safe ground.
I liked it because there was an enormous desk underneath an enormous window. Once, I heard music late at night, followed the sound, and came to a neighborhood block party. I learned later that the housing block was one of the well-known developments in the city. I stayed and listened to the band for a bit, and came back a few times later on, when I heard the music, perching outside a small Sherlock Holmes-themed bookstore and watching the goings on. Neighborhood parties have a different sense to them in places with a stronger civilizational context. It is the festival of the place, something awaited and enjoyed.
I remember one summer at Dan Boone, a group of us went wandering around the local neighborhood before the first readthrough -- land was cheap in that part of town, and it was traditionally the African-American quarter. We were welcomed heartily, had some food, and talked to the folks there for a bit. When we got back to the rehearsal hall (large cinderblock studio theatre, part of the complex), everything seemed very sterile and programmatic.
The rooms in Skopje were intimate -- I slept on a small couch behind a bookcase next to the desk. On one of the first nights there, I had one of the most powerful dreams of the peregrination. A large battle that I eventually realized was taking place in the future in that city.
I felt the difficulties of wing-and-a-prayer exile keenly, even though wandering through the Balkans for a few years was probably the wisest and most enjoyable thing I've ever done. The setup there allowed me to work comfortably -- and a decent private kitchen was just steps away. I shopped at the big grocery at first -- my normal first-week buy seemed to take the cashier a bit aback. That town has its difficulties, as good a place as it is. It avoided the wars, and it recovered from the earthquake, but the general prosperity of recent years seems not to have reached it in full, although there's an abundance of large-capital projects (statuary, shopping malls, etc.). None of my ATM/ travel debit cards worked there, so I had to keep wiring myself money. I made it a point to pick up the funds at a long-established local bank, which meant about 15 minutes to a half-hour of paperwork each time -- which was part of the interesting experience. I eventually found a discount grocery chain, and to save money on the wiring-to-self plan, was able to subsist on a staggeringly small sum each week, food-wise.
I was talking to a billionare once, a friend of some family members, and I boasted that I had heard a certain gala concert at the Metropolitan Opera for a very small price -- he had been there as well, I think, in one of the better tiers, both price-wise and seating-wise. There was a momentary oddness in the conversation, almost a Henry James moment of hanging fire, and I realized that paying as little as possible to hear a gala concert was an alien thought to him, and presumably to the others. But the performance was very worthwhile.
We are all doing different things -- like radiants from the center of a sphere, and it's a mistake to look over and try to calibrate your direction by any of the others.
The work is there to be done. The social forms are deadly. I'm still hoping to survive the spring.