I saw a wooden chair today and wanted to sit on it. I did. I liked this chair. I liked how it was built and how my back felt leaning on it. It was old, the wood was cracked from rain, and it was covered with lots and lots of bird poop.
I asked Tara to take a photo of me sitting on it so that I could remember that moment when I deeply appreciated the chair’s craftsmanship. As I sat, I couldn’t figure out how to sit or pose, so I naturally looked back at the extraordinary view of the surrounding mountains. The orange tree in front of me didn’t mind.
As I looked back, I thought of the past. I didn’t even care for the past - not even the last second before I sat on that chair.
I looked at the orange tree in front of me, I thought there was something out there in front of me with green, orange, and brown colors but I really couldn’t tell what it was if I were really honest about it. The only way I could ever name it an orange tree would be if I tapped into the vocabulary of the illusory past. So, I don’t really know the future either, nor do I care about it.
What I felt inside of me though, couldn’t be positioned in a chair. So for the sake of the photo, for the sake of delusion, for the sake of my ancestors, and for the sake of the craftsman that made this chair, I looked back to the past to pretend that we actually build every present moment upon the past and the future is irrelevant. As if looking back makes more sense. It does not.
Nothing makes sense. Life is a paradox. All is irrelevant. Meaning, purpose, creativity, love, hate, rotten salmon in the neighbor’s trash…these are all merely words.
I am Truth. My daughter is Truth. You are Truth. The hell with all else that dances prettily around it. Truth hath no confines. Truth embraces everything but is embraced by nothing.
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