Saturday, April 3, 2010
From The Bottom Up
up over time. Call it palimpsests of perception. Call it habits of
mind. Past these rocky shores are only flow, the grace of creation
becoming. Not truth. Not the noemic realm of ideal and pure forms.
Leave your Plato at the door, please. But merely that time before we
convinced ourselves we know what it all means -- or most of it, anyway.
Fool's errand, for sure. An impossible quest. Maybe it's more about
energy and finding a different current, remaking the now. Maybe it's
about confronting the whiplike sting of limitations. Oooh, and it
hurts so good!
Well, maybe it's just the weekend. How it calls for rest even as it
promises time to catch up. How it always feels like a little
vacation, an opportunity for re-creation. I dunno. Maybe snorkeling?
And yes, this weekend I could call that a euphemism -- one I enjoyed
thoroughly, me and the jellies.