Manifesto: Next time around, I want to be adored. End.
They say whatever one’s heart prays for the most…
May I find adoration at the least.
I am mind-mapping in the mornings, investing in the brain as an agent of change. Or, at the very least, a more malleable organ than the heart. Do not worry about the how, they say. The how will follow. And so I X-ACTO tiny paper images of the future and attach them to the branches of my brain. This is an act of faith.
Neuroscience is the only reasonable path to coping with unknowns. That and Buddhism. Buddhism and a social life. A social life and prayer. Prayer and compassion. Compassion and Pinot Gris. Back to neuroscience.
It is another perplexing day in our perplexing world. The documentary I watched last night stole a moment from a miracle. Or rather, described this moment as the miracle. Out of the quantum field of possibility; out of a billion plausible scenarios; out of all the outcomes in the wild universe, came this: me at a computer, typing. At this computer, typing. It is a miracle.
My mind is a stallion. I am not in the saddle. This is not a religion, per se–this kind of knowing. It is a relief to accept that thoughts are not trustworthy companions. They’re not even worthwhile refuse. They are a distraction from what is. A fertile pack of lies. A disruptive chorus. A disappointment.
They are louder than the blitz. They are The Blitz. Oh, unknowns. What is their choking hold over me? Why am I enamored of abstracts when they are so unwilling to crystallize themselves into being? Seriously, it would be easier to hold on to a thread inside a typhoon.
Manifesto: Next time around is now. Right now.