I try to wring a sense of purpose out of the bricks and boards that constitute a life. Usually there is not a drop. The solidity of things resists the extraction of meaning. One is left thirsty. This morning it rains. I have never seen anything more perfect than the pale teal clapboard of the neighbor’s house rippling in the reflection of a puddle. It quiets all of my doubts that anything needs to be more than it is. It shushes my suspicion that meaning lies hidden in symbols. Maybe meaning is as obvious as rain. It falls from nothing and soaks everything. Life absorbs it without effort. It becomes the medium within the trees and within you and me.
I think one should let go of beautiful meaningless things for the sole fact that there are so many of them. Cherish them for a moment, then on to the next. There's so much to experience after all.
I think one should let go of beautiful meaningless things for the sole fact that there are so many of them. Cherish them for a moment, then on to the next. There's so much to experience after all.