Wednesday, July 6, 2016

An Open Space

There is no particular virtue in sitting quietly while the sun rises, but it's a nice thing to do and so one does it, from time to time one does. Ex post facto justifications abound the way unused train tracks are still going somewhere yet the one who both makes and indulges them experiences now a sort of translucence unrelated to reason. Shall we converge at a point in the distance? Rationally no, lovelilyly yes. Strange how at a certain hour you recall a certain essay, Hillman on masturbation at 2 a.m., or what's-his-name's on growing up in Las Vegas while talking to the neighbor about our shared muskrat problem at dusk. Pontificating on how relieved I am to encounter a flower I don't know the name of because it means I can really see yellow Chrisoula says "think of how happy you'll be when you find a color you don't know the name of" and so for the rest of the walk I'm quiet, or at least learning how to be. That marriage, that way, though we are at odds over what to do with the meadow, a conflict that we resolve by walking through it and talking and sometimes taking pictures of flowers or birds' nests. Life does love an open space. We carry cameras everywhere now, enshrining the image and thereby deepening our embodied confusion, and it's so easy to share our thoughts with the world that the trap of thinking thought equals reality isn't even a trap anymore, it's more like a banquet we can't believe we're so lucky to have been invited to. Pass the five thousand loaves please! Selfies with Jesus for Christ's sake. Broken screens leaning against the back stairs, lilies blooming in what one cheerfully describes as a cheerful way. Thank you orange for being practically luminescent when I needed light most! Damned if you do, damned if you don't? Well, writing anyway. This.

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