Thursday, February 5, 2015

One Struggles, One Does

The dreamless sleep is most helpful in terms of examining the requisite metaphysics (of attention, awareness, et cetera). What is reality when we are not aware of it? Am I only conscious of elephants when I see them/read about them/think about them? Or is consciousness the whole, regardless of our piecemeal methods? And so forth. Oh! What is Spring when I am on my knees in the snow? Clouds care nothing for the moon they obscure, as the moon is alive - or subject to entropy anyway - but not sentient, or "sentient differently" as I put it from certain corners (albeit ones I visit less and less). Certain adults in my life used to say "there's more where that came from," a sentiment I now associate mainly with scientists. We are never finished, in the strict sense that one cannot know what one doesn't know. Humility is almost never a bad idea, though one struggles, one does. February is a kind of darkness, while happiness - even the shallow kind, which is to say the wordy kind, which is to say, the only kind I can manage - is a kind of light. Even a forty watt bulb can put a lonesome heart at ease! Meanwhile, vast assemblies of snow silence Watts Brook, yet in another sense I can hear it still - and do - which explains perhaps this enduring, this fructive relationship with quietude.

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