On the early spring coolness of the soccer field sideline, I finally reached the cruising altitude required after an unusually hectic week and surprisingly tough go at getting a cup of coffee.
I take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, life is not hard, life is not easy, we have the tools, the ability to be what we want to be. At the same time our ego, our intellect get in the way and make us strive ahead, wanting for more. More what?
More stuff. More respect. More worth.
I'm a good communicator. I talk to people and listen to their answers. I open myself up, everyday performing surgery on my innards, exposing my self to the elements of life.
Well maybe not that much, but it seems like it.
I finish my coffee, but don't feel like scrapping around the insides for the milk foam, so I walk over to the trash bin.
Why are even these so complicated. Now I have to choose between, trash, plastic and paper. In the old days, in Taiwan, I would have just pitched it in the general direction of the daily trash pile and if the nighttime garbage men didn't get it I could sleep snug knowing that when typhoon season arrived, all my outdoor clutter problems would be resolved.
But hey, I digress. I wanted to talk about connectedness and here I end up talking about the ocean.
You see the ocean is the place where all the garbage without a home ends up during typhoon season. Sorry I'm taking a lot for granted here. I used to keep a blog. I used to have readers who would be at their computer, who I assumed might google the parts that weren't exactly A leads to B and therefore C kind of logic.
I wonder how much garbage is at the bottom of the ocean?
I wonder how much of it is mine?
But I guess this is one level of connectedness really. I'm connected to the ocean because of all my briefly owned cigarette butts, cellophane and 7-11 sushi wrappers.
I put the lid in the plastics, the cup in the paper and the long thing wooden stir stick that they have at Starbucks in the regular garbage. Somehow this just doesn't seem right.
I don't make the rules.
Idiots and commitees make the rules.
I take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, life is not hard, life is not easy, we have the tools, the ability to be what we want to be. At the same time our ego, our intellect get in the way and make us strive ahead, wanting for more. More what?
More stuff. More respect. More worth.
I'm a good communicator. I talk to people and listen to their answers. I open myself up, everyday performing surgery on my innards, exposing my self to the elements of life.
Well maybe not that much, but it seems like it.
I finish my coffee, but don't feel like scrapping around the insides for the milk foam, so I walk over to the trash bin.
Why are even these so complicated. Now I have to choose between, trash, plastic and paper. In the old days, in Taiwan, I would have just pitched it in the general direction of the daily trash pile and if the nighttime garbage men didn't get it I could sleep snug knowing that when typhoon season arrived, all my outdoor clutter problems would be resolved.
But hey, I digress. I wanted to talk about connectedness and here I end up talking about the ocean.
You see the ocean is the place where all the garbage without a home ends up during typhoon season. Sorry I'm taking a lot for granted here. I used to keep a blog. I used to have readers who would be at their computer, who I assumed might google the parts that weren't exactly A leads to B and therefore C kind of logic.
I wonder how much garbage is at the bottom of the ocean?
I wonder how much of it is mine?
But I guess this is one level of connectedness really. I'm connected to the ocean because of all my briefly owned cigarette butts, cellophane and 7-11 sushi wrappers.
I put the lid in the plastics, the cup in the paper and the long thing wooden stir stick that they have at Starbucks in the regular garbage. Somehow this just doesn't seem right.
I don't make the rules.
Idiots and commitees make the rules.
