With me, the present is forever and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand…hopeless from the start. A story, a picture, can renew sensation a little, but not enough, not enough. Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die.
In this excerpt, Sylvia Plath reflects on the nature of time and existence, emphasizing the fleeting nature of the present moment. She conveys a sense of anxiety about life's impermanence, noting that each second that passes is vital yet irretrievable. The passing of time feels like quicksand, a situation that is hopeless from the outset. Although memories and stories may provide some relief, they cannot capture the essence of life as it happens.
Plath expresses a deep connection with both her own existence and the lives of those who came before her, illustrating a profound awareness of mortality. She acknowledges the burden of history and feels the weight of those who lived and died before her. Despite being anchored in the present, there is a persistent fear of passing away, and she recognizes the inevitability of her own death. The momentary pleasures of life are overshadowed by this relentless flow of time.
