What to do during the worst storm of the year when you are waiting for, but not looking forward to, the arrival of the relative who said some really disturbing stuff once that everyone pretends she never said because they don’t want to think about what it means, especially if it was a lie because that would mean she is some really messed up psycho who is now coming to discuss things that will impact your life with the rest of your family, and the best plan you have is to stay well out of it, maintain your integrity and do no harm, long and short, to cultivate an attitude of unconcern for the future? What do you do?
Well you clean the living room. You finally try to remove the soot that candle left on the ceiling, but find you need a bigger ladder, and then the sun comes out and hits the little collection of bobbles in just a certain way and you photography them.
Is it possible that we are all fools until our pride is undone? Is it only after our little plans for our lives are wrenched from us, by fate, accident or decline that we regain our universal self, that being of awareness that is simultaneously hopeless, beyond hope and utterly without fear?