In my small hotel room at the top of a guest house in Küsnacht, on Sunday night; the nearby church bell has just struck twelve.
Studying again at the Jung-Institut – busy, exciting, sometimes embarrassing or ridiculous, often wonderful – did I really take thirty-six pages of notes for a week's seminars? Single-spaced, mind you. Well, I'll certainly have something to study.
Yesterday I went into Zürich, walked for hours with Donatella (too far really, there are bright red blooms near my ankles – a bit scary; I think there's something off about my circulation since the stroke, my legs and feet don't seem happy when I travel). Wandered off to a famous gay gay restaurant that now serves distinctly good sushi, where because of a lack of tables I sat with a handsome lad at a table outside – he was amusing and brashly energetic, it was fun to talk to him; I was doing my charming-older-guy thing, which he seemed to enjoy.
But I was tired today – went into the city again but it was almost too much for the day... back by evening, and the thoughts have been crowding in so that it's hard to sleep. Was reading Charles Lamb, a collection that mixes the essays with letters, and gives such a strange sense of his hair-trigger awareness of people and their complexities. And thinking of Gerhard, whose brilliant lectures barreled through so many countries and lost pasts as he limped on his disintegrating hip, and the lovely Serbian musician, only twenty-five years old, in her summer batik skirt after she had lain by the lake today, discussing a workshop with me on the train into town.
A sense of time: a few days ago was disoriented by listening to Sondheim's Sunday in the Park with George, something I know better than to do (it always leaves me too sad – Sondheim is eighty this year, I hope he is doing well). Somewhere among the optimistic excitement of studying, the retrospective sorrows of memory, the disoriented sense of different locations and time lines, even the painful sense of the difference between me and the young people I meet here, is that sense of time's always multiple nexus: how good it is to know so many people, places, events, and how hard it is also. How difficult it is, to live in time.
If years of travel and the AIDS epidemic hadn't left me alone, I'd probably comfort myself by listening to someone breathe in their sleep beside me. Instead, the bell brings me midnight, mockingly.