we cling on to the old hurt stories because to let them go would mean the death of those same stories… and we fear death, in general. or, we fear the unknown….
sometimes the absurdity of this place is laughable. our ritualistic relationship to money, our spiritual enslavement to our emotions, our escapist philosophies. . ….
hints of autumn in the trees. Alan Watts on the stereo waxing poetic about Reality, Art, and Illusion. long drive to see about a cottage up island. jumped at it. moving again…but do we ever stop? hell of a year….
i love exploring.
my corolla stopped counting mileage some time ago, and i suppose that’s how it should be. it’s apparently a common oddity in several models from that year. she’s stuck at 299,999 and i find it amusing, and really one tiny distraction less….
the infernal barriers are energetic, etheric, intangible and preconceptual, yet our mind desperately tries to quantify, categorize, ground and encapsulate them anyway….
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