1 Oct, Northwest Minnesota.
I don’t have much to say. Because it is not a word. It is a difficult to distinguish feeling inside me.
Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? (Paul Gauguin, Tahiti, 1897)
I don’t know. The only thing I know is that we come, we are, and we go.
I look through the window and see the wind is blowing, the leaves are green and yellowing and I know that here I am. I can’t tell you anything about tomorrow as I remember yesterday was different than today. But if I stop wondering, worrying, and thinking about it just for a blip, then I get that feeling again. It is here, in my guts, that is telling me: pure existence.
Let’s have some chilli.
