VII. THE CHARIOT
In 2012, I saw myself from the future. I don’t know what to say about this. It happened during a stretch of years I hardly remember, or, more accurately, remember not along a timeline, but as a series of moments unbound from time, pooling in places: the bar, the apartment, the office, the bus.
Trying to make sense of it but having no ability to find the answer through research or reasoning eventually led to the approach to inquiry that’s at the heart of White Magic, and really, at the heart of my writing process now: writing into the mystery and letting it overtake my intentions. I used to talk about the essay journey as one toward answers but not resolution; now I let go of control and proceed without knowing whether I will even find answers to narrative questions.
On March 20 of this year, I was getting out of my car at the grocery store when I saw an image that was approximately the same as the future self who had disembarked from the bus in 2012. The wool cape was not beige, and the mask was not surgical, but I recognized the future woman I saw on the bus. I worried that maybe this meant I was going to die. Clearly, I did not. I was on a threshold, and I still don’t know what it means, but I prefer echoes to answers.