Rendered Fat Content


Giovanni di Paolo (Giovanni di Paolo di Grazia): Paradise (1445)
"Resurrection seems unnecessary to bring forth any presence still living within our hearts."

From one perspective we might seem to be resurrecting the old Villa Vatta Schmaltz so that we can set about Settling (back) Into it, but we ain't doing that. The Villa of the past still resides there, I guess, but The Villa of the present only distantly resembles its forebear. Its former self was more tumbledown than the present instantiation, and desperately needed painting. The current version still wants considerable work, but we've made progress over time, not to restore it to what it once must have been but to reclaim it from the otherwise inexorable clutches of time. Houses and especially homes seem especially subject to what are known as The Ravages Of Time, but they also face The Ravages of past, present, as well as future. Earlier stewards of this place attempted updates that aged poorly. We're taking it slowly and trying to more thoughtfully stabilize this place's presence into the future. We are not now and never have been in the Resurrection business here.

We might be occupied introducing this place and ourselves to our future together.
We once had a past together and a lengthy period apart from each other, and now we're negotiating the conditions under which we might comfortably coexist going forward. We require no intruding ghosts or vampires, though both seem to be hovering nearby. We did not 'return' here. We did not come seeking past glory, such as it was, but future possibility. Whatever happened then, already happened. Good times and terrible times both well-earned their eternal rest, if only to open space for fresh good times and terrible times better suited to the present. Nobody needs anyone sauntering through their scene wearing out-dated underpants exhibiting the customs and habits of any prior period. I loved those lost, I truly loved them, and they belong to another time now. Resurrection's out of the question.

The seasons seem to understand how Resurrection works. They elicit senses of past performances without casting the same actors in every succeeding role. One senses how it used to be but always within a newly emerging order, and nothing ever really stays the same. Nostalgia seems satisfied without pitching a fit. Spring's supposed to seem fresh and clean, not just another repeat performance. These scripts shift so subtly that nobody ever feels as though they missed a season. Enough cues remain for anyone to glimpse an essence in passing. Spring was never planning on staying, anyway.

The Muse and I have reached that point in relocating where not everything has found its place. Piles of uncatalogued possession clutter countertops and tables. It seems unlikely, as of this writing, that very much of it will ever find peace. It seems destined to wander like lost souls, pining after past performances, Resurrected within a confoundingly fresh context. Almost nothing will become useful as long as it remembers past purposes. Each must find fresh focus unencumbered by prior experience. Not Resurrected, not reborn, but perhaps repurposed describes the process. Each possible future seems compromised from the outset, unable to muster very much of whatever it had formerly mastered. The future might feel more like a descent than any Resurrection or ascension. Upon reflection, though, we might notice enough difference to accept the possibility for emerging improvement. We've lost much with every transition. Resurrection seems unnecessary to bring forth any presence still living within our hearts.

©2021 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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