A meditation on the demands of memory, and the roots of personal identity
Choices of all kinds fill our lives. Maybe they're meaningless; maybe they're everything. I tend towards an intermediate approach....
Tell me it's possible for us, here and now, in this narrow-minded world to keep this mentality. I'm tired of going back and forth between realities.
I’m all for the idea that sometimes the best way to fight darkness is to bring a little light into the world. But I think I also used that philosophy to avoid being involved with current events. Until a man proved to me that if I tuned in, I could save lives.
A former Buddhist monk got me thinking that time is a horrifying illusion that we can transcend.
Intimate sharing is wonderful to a point, but dangerous and even bone-chilling beyond that point. The implications are deep and potentially mystical.
A poem:
"You pray for silkworms and butterflies.
Dance, and your twisting wrists chafe against shackles.
Sing, and grey moths escape your open throat."
Death, you are my hugest fear, but also a sneaky beam of brilliant hope for transcendence.
Group superiority is not my thing. I prefer to see every soul's stunning potential.
I was made for breaking. I am built from the raw material of utter destruction, every fissure
bursting with crumpled petition.
