The Inheritance of Loss

Boast of Quietness

Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors.

The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.

Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them.

Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.

Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.

They speak of humanity.

My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.

They speak of homeland.

My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.

Time is living me.

More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.

They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow.

My name is someone and anyone.

I walk slowly, like someone who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.

-Jorge Luis Borges. (used as the epigraph in 'The Inheritance of Loss' by Kiran Desai)

Hit me like a punch in the stomach.

The generosity of ideas.

"I see I have made myself a slave to Philosophy, but if I get free of Mr Linus’s business I will resolutely bid adew to it eternally, excepting what I do for my private satisfaction or leave to come out after me. For I see a man must either resolve to put out nothing new or become a slave to defend it."

-Isaac Newton

(via www.youmightfindyourself.com)

Is that fair? Must we defend our ideas? Really our ideas only require defence or assertion in our own view, not in any one else's. That's kind of impossible anyway, convincing someone of your own point of view entirely, or if it is possible, it seems wrong. Ideas are only real for you when they are unique to you I reckon, and when you acknowledge this uniqueness.

Got that? Primo.

G'night.

We're all heading for death. Surely we can be ok with that.

So. Today I found myself feeling antsy and frustrated, while gazing into my bedroom window from the garden. It looked awkward and disconcertingly pink in there. And the first thought that came to me when I wondered what kind of a person lived in there was 'someone who doesn't know what they want.'

Like, I didn't force that thought, it just came. And it was right.

I'm currently disillusioned with material possessions. I'm an anti-materialist. Not that I've taken any steps to deal with it, (it seems that my steps only really come after MUCH thought. too much) but I reckon this is a root of lots of dissatisfaction for so many people. We're striving for the grass on the other side of the bridge, but we need to be learning to appreciate our own grass, and strive to be a better member of our flock. ... Or something. There are more important things for us to spend our time worrying about and striving for than a new car or an extension or whatever.

This came from looking at my things and realising that they didn't all make up a cohesive existence. That some of them are just friggin unnecessary.

I was also thinking about impermanence, and 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.' Soygal Rinpoche said

"Every time I hear the rush of a mountain stream, or the waves crashing on the shore, or the sound of my own heartbeat, I hear the sound of impermanence."

I think the idea of impermanence as our only permanence (delightfully ironic) is a comforting and practical strategy for dealing with life fullstop. I mentioned this, and then my Dad replied that maybe our attachment to material possessions is our attempt at creating permanence, and stability for ourselves. I think that is insightful. Seemingly common sense, but insightful when you think about it.

Soz about that. I hate long posts. But I had to write that. Rambling and half-baked as it is.