Thursday: still just thinking
Well, there you have it
https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2019/10/30/world-series-nationals-astros-game-seven/?wpisrc=al_news__alert-sports--alert-national--alert-local&wpmk=1
and I could wish I loved a team and sport like this, like that, like them. Heirs presumptive of the Washington Senators whom I well remember, a bunch of losers making good, all the way to the top of their game. There was a Time ...
An hour and more outside on 7H porch this morning, coffee and examen. Lights of a ship across the way anchored between 7H and Davis Point. In the binocs, curved lights of Dupont Bridge.
No, Tyndall Bridge really - my earliest memory of it, during WW2, us in bathing suits and carrying towel - - with the wife of an Army Air Corps officer, second or first lieutenant or warrant officer, who were our tenants renting one upstairs bedroom (sharing bathroom with another couple in the other upstairs bedroom) in our house, riding the long semi-tractor-trailer-bus across the bridge, the bus halted the other side of the bridge and entered by sentries checking IDs.
Seven or eight, maybe nine years old, and knowing they were on the lookout for spies, German saboteurs, I recall trying to look invisible. Everyone cleared by the sentries, the bus proceeded and let us out at the Officers' Beach.
At any event, examen: long chat with Whoever or Whatever.
No, it's accusative: Whomever, no, no, it's dative isn't it. Still Whomever. Also, der Herr Gott, mit ihm? ich weiß nicht.
Who are we, who am I, and what do I know? Nothing, almost nothing. As far as I could see out there this morning was the geostationary satellite that I'm pretty sure is there to keep an eye on me; but I've owned and looked beyond with a telescope that I gave to the children's museum as we were clearing out to move from the Old Place to 7H. Looked beyond many times, many hours, many nights, many evenings into the wee hours. There's no end to it, beyond what's to be seen, out to and through infinity, beyond this universe's relative eternity, to other universes and where someOne or someThing is tossing up tiny dots and saying "Let there be" and enjoying the fireworks.
Maybe the reason I know nothing is the Truth that we are all of us and them only here as part of this evening's fireworks display. Time is relative, and so is Space, and so is Truth.
What's the point? The point is to figure out what the point is - - and I'm certainly not there yet. Maybe before next time around?
Remember? Conway Twitty, "It's only make believe".
Someone, a friend, posted this yesterday, and it's my kind of thing ->
What, Who, Whom do I miss this morning? George Chapel. Watching across the Bay for Χάρων the ferryman of Hades! Being a student.
T
https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/2019/10/30/world-series-nationals-astros-game-seven/?wpisrc=al_news__alert-sports--alert-national--alert-local&wpmk=1
and I could wish I loved a team and sport like this, like that, like them. Heirs presumptive of the Washington Senators whom I well remember, a bunch of losers making good, all the way to the top of their game. There was a Time ...
An hour and more outside on 7H porch this morning, coffee and examen. Lights of a ship across the way anchored between 7H and Davis Point. In the binocs, curved lights of Dupont Bridge.
No, Tyndall Bridge really - my earliest memory of it, during WW2, us in bathing suits and carrying towel - - with the wife of an Army Air Corps officer, second or first lieutenant or warrant officer, who were our tenants renting one upstairs bedroom (sharing bathroom with another couple in the other upstairs bedroom) in our house, riding the long semi-tractor-trailer-bus across the bridge, the bus halted the other side of the bridge and entered by sentries checking IDs.
Seven or eight, maybe nine years old, and knowing they were on the lookout for spies, German saboteurs, I recall trying to look invisible. Everyone cleared by the sentries, the bus proceeded and let us out at the Officers' Beach.
At any event, examen: long chat with Whoever or Whatever.
No, it's accusative: Whomever, no, no, it's dative isn't it. Still Whomever. Also, der Herr Gott, mit ihm? ich weiß nicht.
Who are we, who am I, and what do I know? Nothing, almost nothing. As far as I could see out there this morning was the geostationary satellite that I'm pretty sure is there to keep an eye on me; but I've owned and looked beyond with a telescope that I gave to the children's museum as we were clearing out to move from the Old Place to 7H. Looked beyond many times, many hours, many nights, many evenings into the wee hours. There's no end to it, beyond what's to be seen, out to and through infinity, beyond this universe's relative eternity, to other universes and where someOne or someThing is tossing up tiny dots and saying "Let there be" and enjoying the fireworks.
Maybe the reason I know nothing is the Truth that we are all of us and them only here as part of this evening's fireworks display. Time is relative, and so is Space, and so is Truth.
What's the point? The point is to figure out what the point is - - and I'm certainly not there yet. Maybe before next time around?
Remember? Conway Twitty, "It's only make believe".
Someone, a friend, posted this yesterday, and it's my kind of thing ->
What, Who, Whom do I miss this morning? George Chapel. Watching across the Bay for Χάρων the ferryman of Hades! Being a student.
T