Days pass and I have not written. The rebelliousness has softened into a distance and acceptance of other peoples rigour and need forÄ¶.. what? Dressing up, titles, orders.
I have taken to reading I Am That. A book I have been moving to and from for the past 13 years. An amazing piece of writing that takes so much focus to read it is quite startling. I read two chapters, twice, at night, the first being the one I had already read twice the night before. It takes forever to sink in, for the mind to accept this other reality that is not driven by fear and an overwhelming sense of lack and loss.
We were talking this morning about 9/11. Controversial subject now, rather like Catholicism, fundamentalism and Princess Diana. All of which are interesting constructs. I am longing to see why the Pope thought he ought to speak out in such an inflammatory way recently. Nothing is ever what it seems, and that little tiny moment will bounce for a long time, I am sure. Back to 9/11, and I remember watching it, sitting with my mouth open on the bed thinking Äúgosh that is very well put togetherÄù. I have not changed my ideas about it, and still feel that all these things are designed to keep us scared and in that overwhelming, but discrete undercurrent of fear that colours our perceptions, we keep shopping, keep imbibing, keep acting out in an attempt to numb the idea that we will all die. Eventually.
But back to the book. The idea that life rises and falls, and all we have to do is watch it, but what we all do it attach to the pictures and get dragged along by them, is such a wonderful thing. It is as abstract as thinking we could survive without TV or just by seeing the positive in everything.