possum facere habitum e te
Cold hands tonight, numb to this automatic flow and ebb of thoughts transferred from head to fingers; perhaps more attributed to a compulsion of sorts, directed by muscle memory than any true conscious thought; I cannot do much more than take in shallow breath after breath and continue writing.
How many of us can ever say with absolute honesty that there was a moment when we knew exactly what we had to do?(8).
A wanderer without a compass, though not lost, merely in need for a star while following the sky. It's littered with them, you know- stars cast by handfuls in meaningfully symbolic clumps and clusters, jewels their Maker placed with the casual flick of the wrist on a whimsical notion.
There are so many.
Each mirrors an option, these cards placed before me. The prophetess comes and goes with the fall of night, appearing in her feline form, never speaking, but revealing her opinion through those reflective green depths. She places each card down slowly watching my reaction as it’s turned upon the table. Sitting perfectly still with tufted ears flicked forward at full attention, eyes on my own posing a query within them, I wish I could draw her. Perhaps one of these nights I will; right now there are more pressing matters.
King of Cups- intuitive, emotion, empathy, the force of compassion, choosing according to instinct rather than logic.
Interesting, prophetess.
You have to understand that history is not just a matter of dates and of places, of dusty old names in textbooks and museum vaults; it is a matter of choice, for every one of us.
Every decision we make sends a ripple of probability racing away from us, a wake of “what might have been” and “could have happened” veering away form out path, like jagged cracks in the snow pack before an icebreaker. Everyone looks back on their life at one time and asks, “What if I had been here instead of there, if I had bet on red instead of black [if I had swerved right instead of left]?” You play with these thoughts until you tire of them, but there are some thinkers who claim that for every choice we make, the ones we don’t choose break off into their own history, isolated but somehow parallel to ours. I’m not sure what to make of that. If every decision you make is played out somewhere, does anything you do really matter? You could go crazy trying to answer that question.
There’s a line in a William Shakespeare play- I forgot which one it is- where someone says, “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.” That turn of phrase has always spoken to me; meshed in those words are meaning that can play both ways…(215).
Four hundred fifteen pages in three and a half hours. Not bad. It was a good one. I eye the book lying on my desk to my left, its spine creased from its completion. The title in red ink appears to be typed upon the cover: The Butterfly Effect.
-----------
((and on the non-esoteric side...))
Oh wait, is there one? lol.
Going to see The Passion tm.
1st R movie is Jesus.
Interesting.
And lo!
All girls.
THAT's interesting.
wh007! for fun people.
How many of us can ever say with absolute honesty that there was a moment when we knew exactly what we had to do?(8).
A wanderer without a compass, though not lost, merely in need for a star while following the sky. It's littered with them, you know- stars cast by handfuls in meaningfully symbolic clumps and clusters, jewels their Maker placed with the casual flick of the wrist on a whimsical notion.
There are so many.
Each mirrors an option, these cards placed before me. The prophetess comes and goes with the fall of night, appearing in her feline form, never speaking, but revealing her opinion through those reflective green depths. She places each card down slowly watching my reaction as it’s turned upon the table. Sitting perfectly still with tufted ears flicked forward at full attention, eyes on my own posing a query within them, I wish I could draw her. Perhaps one of these nights I will; right now there are more pressing matters.
King of Cups- intuitive, emotion, empathy, the force of compassion, choosing according to instinct rather than logic.
Interesting, prophetess.
You have to understand that history is not just a matter of dates and of places, of dusty old names in textbooks and museum vaults; it is a matter of choice, for every one of us.
Every decision we make sends a ripple of probability racing away from us, a wake of “what might have been” and “could have happened” veering away form out path, like jagged cracks in the snow pack before an icebreaker. Everyone looks back on their life at one time and asks, “What if I had been here instead of there, if I had bet on red instead of black [if I had swerved right instead of left]?” You play with these thoughts until you tire of them, but there are some thinkers who claim that for every choice we make, the ones we don’t choose break off into their own history, isolated but somehow parallel to ours. I’m not sure what to make of that. If every decision you make is played out somewhere, does anything you do really matter? You could go crazy trying to answer that question.
There’s a line in a William Shakespeare play- I forgot which one it is- where someone says, “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.” That turn of phrase has always spoken to me; meshed in those words are meaning that can play both ways…(215).
Four hundred fifteen pages in three and a half hours. Not bad. It was a good one. I eye the book lying on my desk to my left, its spine creased from its completion. The title in red ink appears to be typed upon the cover: The Butterfly Effect.
-----------
((and on the non-esoteric side...))
Oh wait, is there one? lol.
Going to see The Passion tm.
1st R movie is Jesus.
Interesting.
And lo!
All girls.
THAT's interesting.
wh007! for fun people.