I'd like some ketchup with my catch up
When do you arrive? When we get through our days, get what we need (thanks, Amazon), find what we're looking for? When we make friends? When we call it home? I don't know... but I guess, for the first time, I'll find out.
I'm pretty sure one arrives as soon as one has decided one has arrived.
Time that ticks madly away and makes you a slave to its whims.
Time is the seeming appearance of succession of thoughts. The madness is another way of referring to the possibility that all mental is illness.
Enter the vagabond. They have descended and see a world out there that slowly envelopes them, turns them on and takes them to the alley. Because what they have is not time. So this blog also exists away from time. Its words struck down on virtual paper with no time.
No time, because no mind (i.e. thoughts).
But the phantom of the clock-era magically reappears when fed said virtual paper.
I suspect that in most cases the phrase “sell out” tells us more about the jealousy of those wielding it than the reality of what they believe about what they're observing.
My shadow follows me, carrying a deep truth far from the edges. The edges that define my shadow distract me from the interior. I have spent years exploring my shadow, nearly all of them at the edges. To date I have only caught a glance at shadow's center. Constantly I have been pulled to the edges. I have discovered cultural stories, familiar mythology, and personal wounds. At these edges I have found more than enough to explain it all. Yet I know there is more to my shadow that these edges. I continue to explore, that I might better know myself. I hope and pray that one day I will catch more than glance of my shadow's center. ...and I am afraid. Most of all when I won't admit it to myself.