The Sciences Sung a Lullaby

The things you don’t say are the things you regret.

They say.

But somehow I spout off truths and regret it all the same.

How is it possible to explain that when you want to share a story it is not because you want to hide yourself but because you feel yourself as a teller of tales? To know yourself through the offering?  To pleasure yourself by aligning yourself with the Nile and not fighting against it? That you are the water bearer, that being the vessel of the water which gives life is your thing…is you?

I tried to have that conversation tonight and did not…get far.  It was not a fight.  Still, I did not get what I wanted, so I regret the lapse in judgment, even if to do so requires I ignore the flurry of compliments, of zeroed-in desires, of fixation upon the vessel, the bearer, the teller and not the salvation it carries.  Perhaps it is time for the Riveter to draw herself a new map.

  1. Amazon shopping list
  2. drink glass of water (did remind me I wanted a filter)
  3. send my three images
  4. Pajamas / face washed / teeth brushed / lotion applied.
  5. this post
  6. find the bullet journal try-out journal somewhere about (I did not find this, but it must exist, so I have not bought a new one.)
  7. let the idea percolate

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