Loathing

by Nic Olson

The Sugar Shack, a French Canadian staple. The maple syrup tins tacked to the trees, with the lids of the tins shining at different heights, suspended from the thick maple trees, like a fairy tale. The buckets sucked the blood from the trees to make a sweet glue-like condiment. The ultimate comfort food. The ultimate heart attack. The ultimate freedom from fear.

From the 37th floor the city looked sharp. With legal documents waiting to be signed on a thousand dollar conference table, the city looked scared. Maybe the city looked scared through the eyes of the scared. The view was impeccable. The lawyers answers to my questions were just as much so, clean cut and sharp, like the lawyer himself. I am an accessory. The mafia will find me out. I’ll tell you more about this all when you are a bit older. There is a slight degree of fear for all.

We went to the Basilica de Notre Dame for the light and sound show. Through a few pieces of sorry acting, with our remote control headsets to translate into the mother tongue, this show highlighted the history of the massive ‘house of God’ and a few times, through the sorry acting, brought up the fact that the church had the spiritual privilege to teach the gospel to the uneducated North American Indians. Cringeworthy. The fear that can be known through subjugation is expansive. And a different kind of fear that is known by the suppressors hundreds of years later is evident.

My mind is in no single place right now. Too much thought about the past, the present, and the future. I like to do, but thought eats me alive when I don’t want it to. So much going on, too much thought, and a possibly regulated fear.

Krishnamurti:

Fear is the product of time.
Thought is nothing more than time.
Fear is produced through thought.

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