“The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss - an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc. - is sure to be noticed.”
― Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death
FIELD NOTES #10 It'll take a thousand years but eventually this stream will cut a stone in two. Goes to show you, all you need is time. A little patience and even mountains have to move. But we all want dynamite, to blast ahead and forget the shattered landscape, to put a torch to our lives and call it progress, forgetting that a good path offers some resistance— cut a highway through a mountain and you'll never see the summit. 𑁍𑁍𑁍 Twelve bells ring as the clock strikes twelve. Bitter tenor notes slip past the evening watch before settling in the trees like little sparrows in a rainstorm. That tender space between now and never suddenly full and falling off the edge and the only sound left is the steady rise of heavy chests: the space between the bells a kalpa's worth of silence. 𑁍𑁍𑁍 We waited for the greyhound, one of those old wheezing, inchworms with pockmarked seats and stale, heavy air, hoping this time our little trip would finally undo all those years of silence, each of us looking at the floor as if overwhelmed by our feet, the slow whine of the brake line: a sign of things to come.