Thursday, July 23, 2020

Our Own Hands

When we wake up, we make coffee, and then we read writers whose work is hard to follow, and stay with it as long as we can.

Green Man iconography that briefly appeared magical to me. We are built for longing, and what longing produces. 

Be a better engine!

When the other wakes up, we take care of them. We have our own hands. Sentences I don't remember writing.

Problems that are solved when seen in this or that light. What is extending itself, especially when you are not aware it is extending.

Roots of oak trees, roots of hemlock.

Bad ideas.

Getting clear on what hurts and what does not, and aligning oneself with what does not.

What helps and what does not. 

What's what. We are not allowed to reach everyone in substantive ways, not every conversation is meant to own the salvational light of the first morning ever.

Sarah Constantin's point that "feelings that come from good human connection, the feeling of being loved and cared for, are real."

Gravel in the driveway. Swallows resting briefly on mounds of dirt in which squash seeds open, thrusting green stems upward, towards the sun. "What I meant was not what you took."

Dust on my sandals again and again and again.

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