i have not posted for a while. but i have produced, oh i have produced. quickly. much.
last wednesday, i wrote 24 pages. the next day, i wrapped it with a final 12. i revised those 36 (double chai) over the weekend, revised 15 pages i had written earlier in the week, and wrote another four more. all told, about 60 pages i handed in on monday. i am proud to say i learned a lot. but i know that i did not make art or revelation out of my work.
i just kept on going. and i think revelations can't come unless you stop.
today i stopped. i was reviewing statistics with Bill on the enormous green i like to call my front lawn, and he went in to go to the bathroom.
i laid back, and spread my body across the grass like a picnic blanket. matters at hand fled the busy crossroads of my attention and i stared at the arching drift of the cloud terrain above me. it was then that i understood what my 36 pages and days of learning had been about, although my already turned in paper did not peep this explicitly.
individual identity is a gift.
humans aren't the only ones to receive this gift, and it comes to others in many forms.
but the recepients of this gift are still few and priviledged among the legions of the earth
it is a gift
without which we would not know ourselves or others.