No matter how old you get, there is always unfinished business.
The acts of kindness you had intended to perform, old obligations never quite met, entire apartments left to mildew while you were galavanting around the world, whole familes left without you for better or for worse, cruel things you had said and had meant to apologize for, but never did; a love partner left adrift for twenty years and you hardly know what happened afterwards; the new lives established, your sudden, inexplicable leaving--and somehow, in your mind, you never really left. You go into parallel universes where you were the head of one family, the another, then still another, where she was boss and not you.
A producer acquaintance of mine, founder of The Nature of Things, is 92 years old, but he claims to this day he has unfinished business. People involved in the actual "unfinished business" are largely dead, but to Mike, there is still unfinished business. "Unfulfilled kindnesses. Obligations. Yes, so much unfinished business. I am a man who himself will soon be dead, but there is as yet so much unfinished business!"
Perhaps this is why there are ghosts.
Ghosts to some, of Christmases past, to others, ghostly lovers who come to visit in the night.
All because of unfinished business.
I am no great practitioner of the occult, but I am fascinated by he workings of the I-Ching, that book of 64 hexagrams that can so encompass our unfinished business.
Seem old Lao Tsu had a problems about 4,000 years ago, and you can still hear him working it out.
Sometimes the road is dark and winding. There is remorse.
Other times the hexagram comes out six solid lines. High creativity. All things will now be accomplished.
...Until the next hexagam.
Just for fun, while wrapped in my thoughts of unfinished business, I tossed the I-Ching this morning, in the hottest day of the summer.
Here is what it said:
Ting very happy. Pot very full.
Could it be, could it just be, that some of that unfinished business will come to closure?
Hm. How did one become so whimsical, so fey? Must be the heat and humidity.
You are becoming a type. Your brain is overheated.
Like those leotarded chess broads in he coffe houses of the Sixties, a copy of the I-Ching and Kahlil Gibran in their mesh purses.
I really think the 100 degree heat has gotten to me. Sure do feel like HAL 2000, the computer in the movie.
"I am falling apart, Dave.
"I can feel it. I can feel it!"
Give me your answer true.
I'm half crazy
For the love of you.
Unfinished business. For those of us who, for some reason, like to keep our love(s) long-distance.