The Cyclops Inside
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What it looks like inside my head right now.
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Peace like a river in my soul.
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My shortcomings are many.
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I can be ungenerous.
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Selfish, I think it's called.
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I strive to do better. To be more kind. To have compassion. To be generous. Thrifty, brave, and clean.
My progress is small.
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I am a simple unfrozen caveman, frightened and confused by your modern ways.
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Namaste.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 12:17 PM
2 Comments:
i miss phil hartman so, so much.
It hardly seems fair we lost him. What a gyp.
I am reading this book, the guy says how everything, everything is a process. This becoming, becoming itself, becoming not itself, becoming, fruiting, changing. We see a slice of it and call it an apple or a car or my friend dying, but it is much more messy and indefinable than that.
I find some comfort in the idea.
All of these patterns, swirling around and intersecting, breaking apart, congealing. I think about the slides you prepare, these beautiful and perfect worlds, tiny disasters, holocausts.
And you bringing them all into focus. Into sharp relief.
Making them show themselves.
The world is infinitely strange and big and all over it all the time things are happening that just defy any kind of understanding.
Yet we are quick to judge. To dismiss. Pigeonhole.
If we could learn to embrace more uncertainty, that might, I think, be a good thing.
anyhoo.
yrs-
td
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