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We're in an echo chamber, constantly hearing the same reiterated assertions about ______. If half of what keeps getting said about ______ and about the role of ______ in our lives were true, then we'd hear something new once in a while. The noise inures us to hearing anything new. It's too loud to hear oneself think. Nor do I want to hear myself think: I know what I think, and it doesn't help. I want to unlearn all that, forget it, set it aside.
John Berger writes this about the color blue:
"Blue is perhaps jewel. Blue is perhaps adornment. Blue is also modesty- the robe of the Madonna. And perhaps it is this 'play' between two things which makes for the erotic. I do not know. (Yes, now I've remembered, the blue of blueberries is sexy.)"
If that can be written about the color blue that all of us have looked at all of our lives, why is there nothing so fresh and enchanting written about ______?
John Berger writes this about the color blue:
"Blue is perhaps jewel. Blue is perhaps adornment. Blue is also modesty- the robe of the Madonna. And perhaps it is this 'play' between two things which makes for the erotic. I do not know. (Yes, now I've remembered, the blue of blueberries is sexy.)"
If that can be written about the color blue that all of us have looked at all of our lives, why is there nothing so fresh and enchanting written about ______?