I don’t have a lofty idea of myself as something apart, say, from the workings of my innards, or the flexing of my tendons and toes as I crawl around the yard pulling weeds, while my ears are engaged in the harvest of birdsong. I once entertained the time-honored belief that I might be an entity distinct from my body, but that belief has since given way to an acceptance of the possibility. Certainly, my believing anything, however philosophical or grand, or widely embraced, does not make it so. Belief is simply that much more baggage for this old body to bear and for its expression to wear. Without it, there is no need to be proven right, and consequently no position to privately or publicly defend. Some would call this empty or irreligious. But it seems more like freedom than anything else. Others might say it is childish, or evidence of a drift toward senility. But that, perhaps, speaks more of a fear of the same in themselves. A child makes no effort to be sane. Why should I? The entire sane world is at war, one proud, lonely ego at a time.
Can you see yourself sweet, ripe,
about to fall? Enlightenment is a child,
when she puts you in her mouth.
Recently Banned Literature, June 14, 2015
A day later
Perhaps it goes without saying, but it also seems logical, to borrow a comical term, that I am a timeless spirit clothed in a temporary body. Or, to put the impression more accurately, part of a timeless spirit, clothed in whatever material is nearest to hand. Flesh, bark, moss, rock, or star, the spirit rejoices in any and every manifestation, even the unimaginable none. And substitute the word spirit for life, and what do we have? Love.
A common form of armor; frequently cumbersome and illogical to bear.
Recently Banned Literature, March 18, 2012
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