It’s a beautiful day, and I am out walking around near the George Washington houses- this old old stone tunnel and then the view of the Bridge, and the steep hill on Lexington Ave. And I can see myself looking at all the special things as if somehow I could hold onto them- as if life’s meaning were answered by all the special things one could observe and really notice.
What’s it like to drop that? To not be looking for or at anything in particular but to be somehow seeing everything?
And now sitting here near my home, noticing the aversion to that asshole walking down the Grand Concourse with his loud stereo. Fuck him, you know?
I wonder if it’s ok somehow- all this averting and grasping. Maybe that’s the spice in the meal of life. But even that seems like something I could grab onto.
Perhaps just to let it all go- the grasping, the averting, the thinking about the grasping and averting- perhaps that would just leave me sitting here on a bench near the bus stop on the Grand Concourse, doing it all and somehow not doing anything.
Wildflower on the Mountain 