_ I'm somewhat reluctant to encounter fellow humans on snowy mornings for fear that they'll insist, in an aggressively claustrophobic manner, that I agree with them that the snow is beautiful.
_ Isn't the snow beautiful?
_ No. No, it's not.
_ No?
_ Yes.
_ Yes? No?... Now I understand.
_ I'm glad to hear that because so much of what we do, and who we are, is requiring of a massive understanding. Not explaining, mind you, but understanding.
_ Yes, the snow isn't beautiful.
_ Very quietly I am going to enter another realm wherein the snow is neither beautiful, nor not beautiful; a realm wherein nothing exists in opposition to anything else.
_ A fragile beauty is snow; a mere hint, and then...gone. Gone to gray, to slush, to black, to pocked yellow...
_ To pocked yellow?
_ Anyway it's raining now. I can hear it on the tin roof.
_ Don't you just love the sound of rain falling on a tin roof?
_ Chai, please... and throw this bum out.
******
I assume our nervous system is capable of dealing with us having an intense love for all of life.
What separates a teacher from a pupil?
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwFcBC7IwodMd33eFy-h2AGT4a8zMpVC4_8ksWEbFx1h8r3oZozOBpRUyFdrturhdn9udsyTwyM1D_4bZdMO3GS2GSwOB8CrX2e_J3M6e-1w3bJ8a_Zjrsv0kGXPA-kYw3wD0qOv-8pE/s1600/Yellow+Snow+-+Meringue+in+Liquid+Nitro,+Curry+&+Lemon+Curd.jpg
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