Monday, June 15, 2015

Nature abhors a garden, my father would say.  A lesson the botanist's son learned the hard way.

A friend makes note of something.  I do not know her well, but she poses concern over one more Big Brother World thing, facial recognition.  Why were we all so silent, why did we just go along with it all, she poses.

The world as we perceive it is a projection of our collective sub-conscious.  Instances like this make you wonder, what if more people thought deeply, what if more people meditated...  What if the more immediate layers of human consciousness, individual and collective, were more influenced by the voice of the deeper?  Would that deeper consciousness allow for such?

Now so beholden to system, bidden by economic forces, need to keep everything up in the air, people will go along with the model of 'prosperity' rather than question in the slightest.

The bar, given its faults, is one of those front lines of the collective sub-conscious.

Back from the therapist, a new watch-strap from a nice guy with a watch store on Dupont, then a haircut at The Haircuttery from a nice lady who must leave after me to get back to Upper Marlboro for dialysis as she must do three times a week.  We talk of the Pride Parade.  "I teared up.  I said to myself, Michelle, why you tearing up, but I was, I was indeed."

I take a nap, snooze it for a half an hour, shower, eat, fold a shirt, write this, get ready to go to work, Jazz Night number one.

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