i am trying to give words to something i can't even identify in thought. So…i just keep LOOKING at Everything, Looking, and this evening on the way back up from giving water at B Garden, i see this. I pass it twice a day. Everyday. This is the first time i have seen it.
Julian is gone to his father's in New Jersey for a month or so. There's some space in Alyssia's head so we decided to be a short lived book club and the first choice was One Hundred Years of Solitude which i love, have loved and which she read some years ago because of my love of it and she began reading again, before me, and although it is stunningly brilliant, there are things happening in it that are uncomfortable for her. I hadn't yet begun so she was telling me as she read. and at one point she said….AGAIN, I wish you would read Parable of the Sower. Octavia E. Butler. She'd given me the book maybe 10 years ago and i tried but couldn't. But ok. and for 2 days now, i have read. Last night till 1 something a.m. I finished late this afternoon, just before the evening Goat feed.
when i read fiction like this, it becomes my life. my life becomes like fiction. I take time from my life, which is the book, to do things like eat and feed animals. it's dreamlike. i live IN the book. That's why i quit. reading fiction. a long time ago.
but i read it straight through, Parable of the Sower, and now….i'm done.. I am severed from it. and i can think about what i read and i can think about how it is interesting that this is the time when i was ABLE to read it…though trying a few times before, and not. But now. I said to her…maybe now, because i am ripe. We haven't talked about it yet.
and i went in search for thoughts about Parable of the Sower and came to this:
"Is it possible that imagination sometimes takes on other powers and mediates other dimensions of the real to us?" Jeffrey Kripal
windthread 
Leave a reply to jude Cancel reply