The idea of “fame” keeps coming back to me, mixed somehow with the idea of journey. If I was to say there is a sense of “famousness” about experience, could you guess what I’m trying to convey? I’m using the words in my own way here but there is this feeling that the content of my experience has traversed some immeasurable “distance” from nothing to something, from non-being to being, from shadowy obscurity to intense light.
That tree, this table, those curtains, all of it….haven’t they accomplished the impossible, somehow?….and haven’t they, against all odds, found their way to the light of this moment, to a kind of fame in this realm of knowing? And doesn’t that face, this patch of grass breathe a sigh of relief, now, a sigh of completedness, finally fulfilled?
Constant Voice 