Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Buddhists used to think of night as the beginning of the next day. And when we are born our minds are blank. As we live, our minds become repositories for all our numerous experiences. Loves come in and out and cements those experiences.
Then, at the end, we don't want to go home, so we take our time. Before we know it, the funny old janitor comes in and washes the blackboard. Our day's toil is now a clean slate.
Our tears for such a beautiful one ready us for another day... and another life.
I told my grandson Charlie what my teacher told me 60 years ago... that a work of art is finished when none of the original idea remains. So...