Mr. Ghost and Mr. Certainty

If you lived nearby, I might let you borrow a book. Or, even better, you could stay and browse and read a while. You could sit or stand; you could kneel or crouch. You could wonder at the strange figure sitting at this desk. Is he real? That would be for you to decide, although I think the answer might vary from one moment to the next. Are you real? If your answer is yes, are you sure you’re real in the way you think you are? If the answer is no — but who’s willing to admit such a thing? I’m real enough for all practical purposes. Now there’s a good one. “Mr. Ghost? I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Mr. Certainty.” Ah, good sir, your handshake goes right through me. I feel a chill.

Read The Rambler, Numb. 17. Tuesday, May 15, 1750. Art is long, life is short. Keeping one’s own inevitable end in mind is the key to a healthy, balanced perspective.

An afternoon walk in the rain, and through a great deal of smoke of uncertain origin, being held close to the ground. The body said, Really? The mind replied, Apparently. The smoke began to clear, and the rain to lessen, after a mile or so.

First through ignorance, and then later by choice, I’ve given this body a lot of punishment. Only in recent years have I treated it well and truly shown it the appreciation it deserves. It still reminds me daily of what I’ve done; it thanks me, too, for what I do. Together we endure. Then we both fall silent and are one.

November 1, 2023.

[ 1915 ]