Randomness and Disconnection

So much to say in my head, but when I sit down, it all dis­ap­pears. It’s as if being in front of a blank page, with the all the pos­si­bil­i­ties before me, is cathar­sis enough.

Many things to do has left me with lit­tle time to write. A trip to Toronto for the long week­end means I have to make sure all my bat­ter­ies are charged (one for the dig­i­tal cam­era, two for the HD cam­corder, three sets for the flash­es), and my mem­o­ry cards (two for the dig­i­tal cam­era, two for the HD cam­corder) are cleared.

Thunder has inter­rupt­ed this post. I opened up the blinds to see the rain­fall, and the light from the street lamps has come spilling into the room. This makes me real­ize that the hot choco­late can­dle Shirley gave me for Christmas, along with the glare of my Macbook Pro screen, weren’t doing a great job of illu­mi­nat­ing my writ­ing nook. I had Thrice play­ing, but have turned it down so I can hear the sheets of water pour­ing through the street.

Got a bunch of stuff done tonight. While pick­ing up some gro­ceries, I was served by a book­ish girl with braces. She had a dis­tinct lisp, but car­ried on ebul­lient­ly as if she had the most beau­ti­ful voice in the world. Later on, as I walked through the mall, I caught this Katherine-with-a‑K slouched back in a seat in the food court, eat­ing din­ner with one arm in her lap. It remind­ed me of an entry I wrote about a girl doing the same thing six years ago. How I wish for that kind of peace and seren­i­ty. How long ago that was (uni­ver­si­ty!). How dif­fer­ent I was back then.

Been feel­ing very aloof late­ly. Not sure if it’s me, or some­thing my mind is doing to pro­tect itself. Maybe it’s a way of dis­con­nect­ing myself from the world. I must need it right now. This after­noon I was read­ing from a book of Tai Chi clas­sics Louise bought me, and found one part par­tic­u­lar­ly fit­ting1: “Do not be con­cerned with form. Do not be con­cerned with the ways in which form man­i­fests. It is best to for­get your own exis­tence”.

  1. Listed as the first of the Eight Truths of Tai Chi. []


  1. when com­ing from ease those who car­ry on ebul­lient­ly do have the most beau­ti­ful voic­es. :)

    when I’m being aloof with myself I under­stand it as the dark part of the brain, the ver­bal­ly blacked out half is tak­ing up the ener­gy pro­cess­ing in its more effi­cient way.

    bat­ter­ies, bat­ter­ies, and emo­tion­al bat­ter­ies ready to recharge… have a great trip,

  2. Re: “… It is best to for­get your own exis­tence.”

    If you for­get your­self, what have you for­got­ten? Is it the self you imag­ine you are or is it your true self or is it the mem­o­ry of hav­ing been obsess­ing about issues like for­get­ting your own exis­tence?

    When you get to my age and most of your best years are behind you instead of ahead of you… it is a lit­tle eas­i­er to both appre­ci­ate what you have and to regret what you will nev­er have again.

  3. @Pearl — I think you’re right in say­ing that it’s the way one car­ries one­self that over­rides our actions. But the way she car­ried on made me won­der if she was aware of her own lisp; if so, she had com­plete­ly embraced it. We should all hope to do the same with our flaws.

    And thank you, I hope you have a good week­end too.

    @Michael — With peo­ple like us, who seem to be so (some­times painful­ly) in tune with our aware­ness, I think there’s a lit­tle bit of all of those views inside. To for­get, if pos­si­ble, would be to for­get them all.

    I’ll have to reflect a lit­tle more on your com­ment over the week­end, it’s trig­gered a few more trains of thought.

  4. accept­ing our own flaws instead of cring­ing from a self we can’t escape sounds like a good place to be. not proud of faults, but fram­ing them as foibles, per­ma­nent or pass­ing. I’m shoot­ing for there.

  5. A noble pur­suit, try­ing to accept our faults. I see no prob­lem with try­ing to see them as minor eccen­tric­i­ties.

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