Fifteen minutes. That’s all I have right now. Let’s see how much I can say without slipping into nonsensical-ness.
It is all OK. It doesn’t matter what you do, and it doesn’t matter what I do. Everything is perfect. Tragedies. Ecstacies. All the shades of boredom in between. Perfect.
I get mad at stupid men with power who do stupid things with guns. But I am no different. I have done stupid things. I get frustrated at all I do not know—the evil machinations and cowardly conspiracies that are concealed from me, like friends talking behind my back or shadow governments manipulating the electorate. But I do not need to know the details. This vague uneasiness is perfect just the way it is. Even if absolutely everything is riding on it. Just perfect.
If we really knew, and stopped trying to impose our arrogant little intellects onto everything as if we knew, then we would see that it is all OK. Just the way it is. We could simply be, and thus relieve ‘do’ of all the angst we heap upon it. In all of human history, when ‘do’ is so relieved, it has simply had no limits.