There's something about reflective surfaces that I find particularly attractive, and when it rains, the whole world becomes a mirror. I find delight in the serenity of muted colors and gleaming pavement, and umbrellas are beautiful. The softness of the world makes it seem kinder, easier, slower.
Transcendence is not particularly accessible in modern life: I live each day in constant rush, without time, without thought, without really living like my American forethinkers urged me to live. Life is full of impossibilities: mental manipulation of the space time continuum is one I feel at peace with, but the impossible avoidance of farming my time on this planet out to ten thousand small and pointless tasks fills me with panic. Why can't I figure out how to go about the business of living?
No comments:
Post a Comment