(no subject)
Sanity is a multivalenced thing.
What's important now is not important an hour from now; what's important yesterday is irrelevant today but critical tomorrow. We meat-things are caught up in the play of everyday, suspended by a network of strings hitched to our limbs. We are our puppetteers, and we are the makers of we-the-marionette, but we the puppets can only move in accordance with our strings.
We cultivate our reactions in the garden we call 'reasonable'. We dig channels for our impulses to travel. Too many reasons to enumerate why we do it way we do it, too individualistic, too customized, too accustomed. But we do it, for fear, and sometimes even for joy.
Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station. Like it keeps us in line with ourselves, behaving as we believe we ought, like we want to believe we want... The longer I look at a person, have the chance to pick their pieces together, the more clearly I can see the wounds, and how those wounds compel us, individually.
And even as I come to understand any individual phenomenon, a moment's separation from the phenomenon stirs me to realize I know next to nothing. This must be the fear of God of Ecclesiastes! This must be the gift-giving impulse that urges us to return in kind what has been bestowed to us.
How frightening! How wonderful!
What's important now is not important an hour from now; what's important yesterday is irrelevant today but critical tomorrow. We meat-things are caught up in the play of everyday, suspended by a network of strings hitched to our limbs. We are our puppetteers, and we are the makers of we-the-marionette, but we the puppets can only move in accordance with our strings.
We cultivate our reactions in the garden we call 'reasonable'. We dig channels for our impulses to travel. Too many reasons to enumerate why we do it way we do it, too individualistic, too customized, too accustomed. But we do it, for fear, and sometimes even for joy.
Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station. Like it keeps us in line with ourselves, behaving as we believe we ought, like we want to believe we want... The longer I look at a person, have the chance to pick their pieces together, the more clearly I can see the wounds, and how those wounds compel us, individually.
And even as I come to understand any individual phenomenon, a moment's separation from the phenomenon stirs me to realize I know next to nothing. This must be the fear of God of Ecclesiastes! This must be the gift-giving impulse that urges us to return in kind what has been bestowed to us.
How frightening! How wonderful!