Margaret Fisher: With a Sense of Humor (20th century)

" … Presence isn't quite ready to make sense to us again."

I feel moved to consider Senses in this story. Not the usual sight, smell, taste, hear, and feel, but a parallel or even an orthogonal set familiar to everyone: Insense, Outsense, Absense, and Presense. I could throw in the sense of humor, too, and any others that might only come into focus once I start this consideration. I propose this plotline because The Muse and I experienced a shocking Absense over recent days, the sudden disappearance of a presence that had come to kind of define us. Loss seems ordinary enough. We slough off plenty in our regular day-to-day existence, and life itself depends upon death. Everything we consume except milk, honey, water, and air depends upon something dying for sustenance, so we're certainly not strangers to Absense.

The steelhead filet I carefully grilled over hot coals before dinner last night disappeared shortly after that, never to return. But some things seem more permanent, even inseparable, and we come to imprint upon them. It seems as though we own them—or they own us—and no separation of us from them seems to exist until it does. Then, one senses not merely nothing but a sort of shadow presence that could only ever exist after something disappears. That space, freshly vacuous, recently contained something precious but no longer does: that's an Absense. Absense cannot be resolved by cleverly deploying any of the usual five sensory senses, for there's nothing there but recent memories upon which to deploy them against. No lingering scent remains—no persistent taste. Just the sense that something should be there that isn't.

We are not stupid. We know what happened. Our five senses, as well as our orthogonal or parallel ones, are not fooled. It's more like they're disappointed. An old, reliable sensory space evaporated. It doesn't matter where it's gone. It might not even matter that it's gone. Its pregnant space now lacks even a trace of those once reliable cues. What am I to do with all the time that's so surprisingly appeared? What was it that attracted and employed my eye before? I perform a Wylie Coyote, apparently overrunning a mesa that no longer exists. I expect to find some wires roughly disconnected, sparking quietly as the power drains out of the carcass, but there's not even that. We're suddenly lacking a history. The prior chapter evaporated without finishing the story. The context within which recounting it might make sense no longer exists, either. This fact clouds memory and undermines history. My Insense seems hollow. My Outsense seems blinded. Even my Presense seems preliminary. I'm clearly not yet quite ready to make any sense of this experience.

Where's my sense of humor when I need it most? There's nothing even distantly funny about an Absense. Nothing but disquieting shadows seem to exist there. I could swear that I was just yesterday fully equipped with an identity, but today, I seem to be between selves. I bravely attempt to perform my usual activities of daily living, though I sense that I should probably not attempt shaving this morning. The Muse and I acknowledge that we must be in shock. We're humbled to realize again how tenuous existence must have always been. We feel a greater appreciation for those elements of our lives that are still present and accountable. We'll can tomatoes just as if our recent history still exists, and we'll enjoy company as if we hadn't just had the shit scared out of us. Insense should soon start probing again, and Outsense should find some chores to accomplish if only to reassure us that we must still exist. Absense might even make these chilled hearts grow fonder, even if Presence isn't quite ready to make any sense to us again.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz