If whatever I write, or draw, or make, or do, is to be fresh and new, and not simply more of the same, however pleasant and comfortable that same may seem, must I not make sure that I am myself fresh and new? Must I not be my own peaceful revolution, and free of my usual thought pattern, with all its familiar repetition and redundancy? Must I not be willing to dispense with the ordinary thought process altogether, and its constant recycling and rearranging of experience, memory, and the little I know? For how can I appreciate, how can I fathom, how can I relish this miracle of living, if I am bound by such chains? What good are words like Be Here Now, if I am, in truth, caught in the past and so enamored of what and who I think I am, that I am blind to the vivid reality those three words individually and collectively contain?
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Categories: Everything and Nothing