Public missives left out by wise and slowly-wisening inhabitants of the WWW jungle are the last fistful of seeds scattered by the roadside. Most of the seeds will die parched and ignored, some will be eaten by birds, one or two will take root. The larger nursery is in another, more private place, but one has great faith in serendipity - having benefited from it oneself too many times to count. I salute you, tenacious scatterers of good quality seed.
This public talkativeness is also directly connected with the sun being so directly overhead right now. Soon it will be time to retreat again and do something more useful than talking to a faceless-world-at-large.
Was introduced to a slender booklet by a friend who has great timing with these things. A paragraph in it seemed particularly to resonate with my own reasons for being unable to repeat the sort of dark work I have done in the past. It will actually be a marvel if I live to write anything permanent and printed again. Anyway, I quote from the booklet:
'The next morning when I woke from sleep and looked around, I felt that everything I saw was beautiful. Everything, even the most unbeautiful detail, was beautiful. I was in a state of awe. The hut itself was a crude structure, not beautiful by anyone's standards, but it looked to me like a palace. The scrubby looking trees outside looked like a most beautiful forest. Sunbeams were streaming through the window onto a plastic dish, and the plastic dish looked beautiful!
The sense of beauty stayed with me for about a week, and then reflecting on it I suddenly realized that that's the way things really are when the mind is clear. Up to that time I'd been looking through a dirty window, and over the years I'd become so used to the scum and dirt on the window that I didn't realize it was dirty, I'd thought that's the way it was.'
Now is the Knowing
Now is the Knowing