Thursday, September 24, 2020
They say that we don’t really stop. Molecules are jumping off our bodies as we move through space. Our skin is falling off, as is our hair, for those who have hair. I try to figure this out. In Zen we say not two. I have a social security number yet I don’t stop. You have a number and you don’t stop either. I think I’m separate, until I vacuum the floor and see the bag fill up with my dander. He said that space is just a variation of density.
And yet my son calls me on the phone. How is that possible if we aren’t separate? And how can we be 1000 miles away, yet our voices travel through space as if there was no tomorrow. How is that possible? What starts out as an aerosol morphs into a wave of some sort that travels by wire and air 1000 miles. I guess it is like what we did with two dixie cups, though the distance is increased by some exponential power.
I want to feel that connection to the outside, if there is even an outside. If we aren’t separate are we the same? These are all questions I ask as I put myself in one picture after another. Where am I? Who am I? Am I? Those are the only questions that matter to me today.
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...