Jeez, books are magic.
On the train, I’ve just opened to a page in Tao Te Ching (translated by Stephen Mitchell) that reads:
“the feeling of deep connectedness, of knowing exactly what to do, beyond any conscious intention. You submerge yourself beneath the words, in a very still place, and you listen intently.”
Mitchell is describing the trance he was in in crafting the pages that preceded the epilogue.
Maybe such deep connectedness was this morning between 8:15 and 9:25. It was so on the beachhead, too. And on the porch last night. in the park stargazing with Aaron and raspy friends.
Doors upon doors and doors. Abyss. Isolation and unity/ in paradox/ together.
washing dishes: a father’s glimpses 