As I continue to delve into the significance and apperception of embodiment, the gap between sensorial terrain and day-to-day living’s emphasis on appearance widens. It is almost a schizophrenia.
This morning I admired the elegant, understated attire of the female finches at my feeder. Devoid of their mates’ fancy crimson headwash, their long deep brown side stripes are neat but not fastidious. They look well-put together. Shortly after birdwatching, I read Virginia Woolf’s adept, scathing review of ‘‘The Belle of the 50s’ (‘The Essays, Volume I’), Read more
We are born to die.
The usual verbiage is that we are born to live and die, as if existence is an arc, but as far as the body is concerned, living and dying are integral. Like a snake we continually slough off skin, layer over bone, rip connective tissue and re-solder it. Living, at the biological level, involves constant dying. Life and death are not just cyclical but simultaneous. Life and death are one. And the same. Our culture gives us so little affection for small, daily deaths. Read more
I read an exquisite passage this morning. Jane and Rochester are sitting in the orchard at dawn after the ghastly night of Mason being bitten and mauled. Jane doesn’t yet know the deep secret and Rochester is desperate to keep that truth from her. His life teeters at the edge of disaster. Bronte presents this dilemma by having Jane and Rochester speak about Thornfield Hall. Read more
I was interested that in a feeling-sense, this sherpa/burka ‘reference’ was so cozy on a cold cold day. The bundling was needed protection. Looking at the photo later I recall the sensuous colors of the bumpy, fleecy texture being full of warm puffs air. I like the contrast with the smooth shiny eye surface. Read more