Friday, May 22, 2009
I have a special friend. If Robert Heinlein were to ask her what color was my porch, she would answer, “It’s covered in creepy vines; on this side.” Her return to residence at the Dawgranch has rekindled a conversation that began around the pond over morning ganjava five years ago and continues each of these days around the everchanging wonder of baby chicks growing to maturity. This blog was begun as an outlet for the momentum the vigor of our discussions had generated when she upped anchor for NYC three years ago.
Unlike blogging to an unresponsive, unknown readership with rare excellent exception, our conversations deal with immediate feedback from the smoke detectors we serve each other as by calling out fuzzy language and logic in genuine efforts to share and understand new and alien ideas. The energy of our exchanges serves to drive my meditation during the times alone. It seems the ultimate value of language is that through the natural diversification of labels and meanings due to early nurturing among local customs, we each bring a naturally different picture of the world to a shared process of revealing the pre-existing theme from which all the varieties arise.
She makes me dig harder to help her get her head around my use of terms like void, infinity, gestalt and the mobius loop. I rail at her use of awesome to describe the commonest of phenomenon, only to be brought up short by my jaded, unwilling-to-be-awed attitude that permits me such condescending snobbery and blinds me to how awesome the mere quantity of the commonest critters truly is. Nature is awesome.