Only fools and horses

Sometimes the adamantine drive to always explain and have opinions and swerve this way and that on life’s road creates a heaviness.

I just want to live, dazzle between the forces of coming and going. And exploit every atom not as an idea but because I can’t help but do so. Live in the moment not as a singularity but as a wholeness, not as a geometry of this or that but as a circle of deep connecting.

It’s like we are all fragmented and need cohesion but cohesion can only come about because of fragmentation. That’s where I want to live. Every second that ticks by blood is rushing inside of me to keep me alive and yet I can’t even live up to the blood’s call. Half my body is tingling with expectation and the other half is wondering what’s all the tingling about. I’m aware but only up to a point because the rest of me is lagging behind and the gap’s wide and the senses seem to hesitate.

It’s like I want to snap out of the stupor but there’s a sudden jolt of consciousness that refuses.

I think what I need is to take a long walk and a hot bath. I have a case of Samuel Beckett’s forlorn bucket.

And I believe in salvation. But not as a catechism or  creed or through the crucifixion of a man (what a terrible way to find salvation,  on the blood and torture of another man). We have to save ourselves.


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