Stranded

"The mind and the world jointly determine the mind and the world."

Now that the mind is in retreat, faltering, stumbling at every juncture, the world stumbles, is out of joint.

It was as if the fish suddenly got scared. Of what?

The contract between the word and the world is strained. the future tense has been drained of meaning. We live, when all is said and done. We live, when all is said and done, in a 24/7 world. 

~~~
Is the only permanence now the constant flow of unjoined moments, the perception of a stream of moments, strung together loosely?

In the brilliant early morning light one can detect a hint-more than a hint-of spring in the air. It is never this clear this time of the year. A few labourers, some waist down in a ditch, work with such dedication they would, you imagine, carry on working even if the whole world around them collapsed. Shovels, spades, pick-axes, hammers. Next to them an elegant gardener, wearing a thin jumper, sits on his haunches and vigorously turns over the soil in a garden bed with a small trowel. The tool seems to be a mere extension of his forearm. The soil is thick, full, wondrously dark in colour and texture. 

What are they all preparing for? 

~~~
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