Upon returning from her early-morning walk, she said, “A raccoon, as big as a small bear.”
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Rushing water, fluid sand, where the stream meets the sea.
For an instant, there are two of me.
But to keep my balance as I cross, I must mind my feet.
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Potted the coleus cuttings.
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Read chapters twenty-eight and twenty-nine of Middlemarch.
. . . It is an uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self, — never to be fully possessed of the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardour of a passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. . . .
September 22, 2023.
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[ 1875 ]
Categories: If It Had A Name
Tags: Actions, Attention, Bare Feet, Be Here Now, Bears, Coleus, Consciousness, George Eliot, Identity, Journals, Knowledge, Life, Middlemarch, Morning, Raccoons, Reading, Sand, The Sea, Walking, Water
William Michaelian 