On the one hand I have this impulse to push away from the Conceptual completely and exist simply within the moment. I’ve felt a lot better, in some recent days, by just living. Moving from the dishes to the laundry to the computer and back again, flowing seamlessly.

But then come outside pressures great and small. The Taxes, fuck. The fetch quest of going to visit the dental hygienist yesterday. These are realities that don’t flow, and without the flow I have an overwhelming impulse to rush back to the motherly arms of abstract ideas.

Connections, like:

What is the resonance between Observing-The-Observer (in a flow state), and Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

And from there the linkage leads me even further astray: look at this lovely glowing Eden-apple image of The Noble Lie. And thence, was Vonnegut thus really onto something significant when he made up and described a religion called Bokononism?

Suddenly I’m living solely in my head again, neglecting my body and the extension of the body that I ironically call my House.

Until I come full circle, confronting this blank page, and in that practice once more observing the observer than I theoretically am, and noticing that it is … hungry, for this or that; that it would best be served perhaps by another strong dose of the walking meditation as a re-entry point to that very concrete flow …

Maybe there are no distractions. Maybe looping recursively thus is exactly what ‘should’ happen. Should, according to the gospel of some shitkicker god, as revealed unto his prophet … bloody hell. No gods. No masters. No nothing.

Will I ever learn?

Will I ever not learn? Unlearn?

On the other hand,