During Which I Listened to "25"

02/22/2006 9:30 AM – 9:55 AM

We still cannot predict the roll of the die, but we can make an excellent pair of loaded dice. This is our state. The cold and the sunlight, tracks in the front yard, and, yes, of course I still long for this to be a quiet country morning, but here I am and here is where I shall be content. It is an odd balancing act.

The wind rattles the windows from time to time; it is not a storming wind. We are here and we are alive (as far as we can tell and it is telling enough to feel comfortable guessing at it), we can learn not to clench our teeth and curl our fists at it. We can learn to see the Platonic Ideal even in this not-quite-it. It is it, because it is where we are. We value, might as well value it as high as you honestly can. So it is a good day. Good day to die, good day to live – doesn’t really matter, both happen on the same day all the time. What is it that one wants? Happiness, satisfaction, contentment. I have no opinion on the lady walking down the sidewalk.

The ashtray is filling. The little piece of tape on the top of my pouch of Drum is fluttering in the breeze that sneaks in through the cracks in my bedroom window. This is what life is. Practicing compassion is an act of faith in the position that others exist and feel existence as fully as I do. Faith is not a burning in the heart, though faith –like good chili- may make the heart burn. Faith is behaving as if one believes that the statement is true. In kindness we exist better in our own skins, holding the morrow inside. Blood becoming. Action is character. Character is not necessarily displayed in action. Necessaries and contingents. The cold is itself. The Christmas lights that hang in the trees sparkle because of wind and sunlight. Two men talk. A boy spits while crossing the street. Somewhere, hidden in all of this, is the intent of God. So be it. We will arise and walk. We will sit and smoke. Sometimes, we will just sit. Someday, the cabin. And so it goes and so it goes.