Your News

Dear Sir,

I am writing to offer my sincere condolences on the unfortunate news of your sudden enlightenment.

May I wish you a speedy recovery and very much look forward to hearing of your return to the land of the living.

Yours very truly,

Concerned Friend

Note on Trumpet

Walking home, after a hard run this evening, something occurred to me.  Running has become more than just exercise for me; I find it hard and uncomfortable but very satisfying and very often, when the pounding has stopped and I walk home through the quiet evening streets, some interesting thought or perspective will arise.

This time, walking home, there was the sound of an outdoor concert.  Noises of drums, voices, electric guitar were ricocheting across the streets off walls and there was this feeling of buzzing energy….all the more so, because of the tension on the dark, thundery, early summer clouds overhead.  Noise, I thought, noise.  And then a few very quick leaps and an idea had been quickly spun.

We look for silence, but never in the place where it lives, in the heart of noise.  We look for peace, but rarely in the heart of war, in the chaos of our inner battles.  We look for stillness, but never consider that it may be found in motion. Those party-goers to the open-air concert…..were they going for the noise, or were they going for the silence within the noise? Were they not truly going to their temple, to the heart of life?  For what is life, if it is not this constant, silent crescendo?

Conspiracy Theory

Which feels true out of the following options:

a) You were born from parents, who themselves were born from parents, into a world that was born from a universe that was itself born out of nothing.  You live in this world as a creature called a human with an unclear purpose and you have a uncertain future life that you are in the process of living out until you die and disappear from this floating creation.

b) You are what you see.

consp

Drought

The honest truth was that he was at odds with almost everything and everyone.  There was no one he knew of that he didn’t dislike in some way and so it was that he related not with others but with the things he hated about them.  It was as if he attempts at relating were always glancing off the other, deflecting in some way, as if his attention and that of his interlocutors were always missing each other in flight.  The difficulty for him was that he could not escape the trap of knowing what he disliked in others.  Others, of course, were enmeshed in the same conflict and so, after all, there was this undeniable sense of relational drought.  What was the lesson in this?  Something, somehow, had to change.

drought