I’ve logged more experience than most with simplicity and the complexity you discover inside simplicity, minimalism and asocial behavior, endurance and landscape.
Here is the truth: I think some deep wisdom inside me (a) sensed the stress, (b) was terrified for me, and (c) gave me something new and hard to focus on in order to prevent me from lapsing into a despair coma — and also to keep me from having a jelly jar of wine in my hand.
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He came back. I saw him in the grass, the white of him glowing in the floodlight, the wind turning it off and on again. I saw his face at the door, waiting to be let in, his nose leaving smears across the glass. Days later I heard him in the kitchen pacing blindly for his supper and that night a soft crinkle as he shifted in his bed. Love wants to be fed. It will return again and again, holding a memory firmly in its jaws, and you must throw or keep. It will grow old, too weak to walk. You’ll carry it everywhere at the end until it nods, turns in a circle, lies down.
Jin Cordaro