constellations #6: the infinite second
Hi again.
On the night she met him, my sister’s new crush told her about a theory he calls “the infinite second.” I love the way it sounds. I don’t even think you need to know the particulars of his theory (teenage knockout games; the possible form of heaven) for the concept to resonate.
I don’t know how many times I’ve experienced an infinite second, but I know of one: my first kiss, a surprisingly out-of-body experience.
A couple months ago everyone was sharing that article about why time feels weird in COVID. I’ll be honest, I didn’t read it. I’m not that curious about the science. Everything feels weird right now. Why wouldn’t time feel weird, too?
We decided that our quarantine timeline has been as follows: March: a toss-up; April: long, agonizing, my birthday; May: solid, tangible; June: fast but not short; July: slow, good; August: TBD.
I’m not a very patient person, something I’m ashamed of. Always chasing the second and forgetting the infinity. Always eating half-toasted bagels and burning my mouth on coffee.*
This weekend I saw a rabbit in the yard, calm, unmoving, and I started slowly taking steps closer to it, patiently, until I was very close, and eventually I was so close that I started to wonder what I was even doing there, what the point was, and then I felt a sudden urge to yell or jump or freak it out, and then I felt a little sick to my stomach about it, wondering if my desire to get close was really a desire to exert control, and then I took this picture and then I walked away.
(My sister needed a new crush, having had her heart broken a few months ago and then getting stuck in an interminable mode of heartbreak.)
“Man no longer works at what cannot be abbreviated,” the host says, quoting Benjamin. “It’s ok to be in endless pursuit of clarity,” the writer responds. Later, they talk about dance. Later, he asks her, “Is blue still something you think about?”
In the traditional Rider-Waite tarot deck (which my friend Lydia says we ought to call the Colman Smith deck), the lemniscate, or infinity symbol, shows up in four cards: the two of pentacles, the magician, strength, and the world. In a video I watched this summer, Lydia said the symbol can be a clue that there’s a window into deeper meaning.
The two of pentacles, she said, reminds us of the necessity of holding things in balance. To mix metaphors: You can’t pour from an empty cup.
This week marks six years that I’ve lived in Washington, D.C., which, I guess, is kind of an ironic thing to mention since I haven’t been there for a couple months. When I moved to DC six years ago I spent the first week sharing a basement studio apartment with a friend from high school. We ate trail mix in bed and re-watched the first episodes of The O.C. together. Now, she lives ten thousand miles away.
Last year for my five-year DC-versary I made a playlist called “first five years,” which is 50 songs long, ten songs that summed up each year for me. I’ve updated it so now there’s a new version, “first six years,” just for you.** Every song has a good story or at least a potent memory (“Everybody Here Wants You” and the highway in Austin; “Broken Necks” and building my coven; “Crazy On You” and my mom; “Old Town Road,” of course, needs no story because it’s just that good) and that goes for the new ones, too. Enjoy!
Thanks for reading. I hope you find the deeper meaning this week.
xo,
M
*ok this is only partially true as I mostly only ever drink iced coffee anymore.
**I’m actually personally an Apple Music person (sorry!!!!) so if you want that link, let me know.
I'm (clearly) just getting caught up with constellations again - and I'm so touched that this project was meaningful to someone else and grateful for your support!