Lately I've been trying the see past the layers of patterns that build 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.