Luckily, my feet are calloused from years of fence-dancing, and my derriere was designed for ... oh.
Well, I think at the moment of falling, should I not evaporate upward instead of downward, when I abandon choice I may have a moment where I realize it was all a waste of energy and I should have been writing romance novels and pocketing the change, or, I may discover that it simply IS one way or another way and I have no choice about it regardless so again, the fence-dance was a foolish hobgolbin of my little mind, or, I may find that the universe is neither kind nor cruel but even more beautiful than anything I can imagine and that a Great Kindness I'm more or less hopefully banking on was all a figment of my imagination but my imagination and what I did with it was the point. Or my little wink of energy may go out without fuss and there may be emptiness and maybe somewhere else, a birth, or not.
Sheesh. I am grateful I am not a philosopher. I literally couldn't read most of them. My brain responded the same way as it did to math. Not well!
CB: There are 4 women and 3 men in our worship associates; one man is leaving because he's going to be president of the board (that predecessor a woman). It has been a wonderful thing. In a few years I may do it again, but I'm tired so it'll be good to have one less meeting and stuff. It was funny in our planning meeting, we were going around talking about our topics and when it was my turn I said well I know I did Loneliness 20 years ago and then last year again, so how about I do it again? (Nobody looks too thrilled. ) Then I go, well another thing I've thought about a lot is Narcissism (I keep looking, they're willing but...) and out of nowhere I go, or how about the spirit of sleep? Everybody's face turns bright with interest, so that was that. Then when I wrote it I found out during the writing that it would become a parallel thing about faith, that's what is such a gift to the WA--it places you in a position where you do challenge yourself to be open and dig pretty deep to do justice to the privilege.
Sent it to my D and an hour later she sent me, and several friends, a painstakingly typed copy of a satirical essay her Dad once wrote on something scatalogical.
Hops
Hops
