I need to start paying attention to more important matters like continuing with my long-neglected ghost-written story about Rumya and stop paying attention to the little things in life like sex, drugs, and money.
Those and other little things have been consuming my time, psyche, and energy inordinately lately and it really is a shame. Yet I’ve no one but myself to blame. I cannot exist as who I am, after all, unless I’m entirely self-disciplining. Nor can I count on anyone to pick me up and nurture me when I fail to live up to my life’s visions.
There was a book of poetry I remember from my youth called “The Man Whom God Forgot”. That could well be me. In the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu proclaims: “I am different. I am nurtured by the Great Mother.” Maybe that’s my only hope. The philosopher Santayana has observed that “it’s not the dark that kills, it’s the cold.” The cold of unknowing, the cold of unfeeling, the cold of unloving. The ever-unrelenting cold. I wish people were warmer. I wish they had it in their hearts not to project upon the macrocosm of us the coldness that kills (you and me).
Just got done running
Oo oO The dragonflies and butteflies and damselflies are all back at once on the wing in Dreamland. Soaring on the breeze. And my spirit’s now soaring with them.
Spirit. It’s all about spirit (here in Dreamland, and for you-me?).
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