The Unfolding of Primal Grace


“I’ve gotten convinced that there’s something kind of timelessly vital and sacred about good writing. This thing doesn’t have that much to do with talent, even glittering talent… Talent’s just an instrument. It’s like having a pen that works instead of one that doesn’t. I’m not saying I’m able to work consistently out of the premise, but it seems like the big distinction between good art and so-so art lies somewhere in the art’s heart’s purpose, the agenda of the consciousness behind the text. It’s got something to do with love. With having the discipline to talk out of the part of yourself that can love instead of the part that just wants to be loved.” ~ David Foster Wallace

“I have this — here’s this thing where it’s going to sound sappy to you. I have this unbelievably like five-year-old’s belief that art is just absolutely magic. And that good art can do things that nothing else in the solar system can do. And that the good stuff will survive, and get read, and that in the great winnowing process, the shit will sink and the good stuff will rise.” ~ David Foster Wallace

Actually, it would be easy to throw up my hands this morning. It’s the news again, and how fascinating it is to watch so many surreal, nonsensical strands come together on occasion. Back at the old Noetic Cafe online message board, at the turn of the century, every once in a while someone would mention Indra’s Web. I think it’s Hindu. Wherever it’s from the bottom line is that everything is interconnected. All of it, this, whatever. I can twist the concept around quite easily, to explain how it is we have all, as a nation, ended up smack dab it the middle of an adult graphic novel. Or a Netflix original. Sigh. I’m keeping it short today. And I have a fulfilling event to hold in memory, or maybe just subconsciously, on through the coming day. It was coyotes who gave it to me. Back around 4:45 AM I heard them start up. It’s been weeks if not months since I have heard a really good coyote chorus nearby; and this morning they were quite nearby. And there were three gunshots that followed the coyotes’ first bark and wail. Yeh, I hope nobody was hurt. No play-by-play today. It’s the feeling I’ll be carrying, the dream. How the wails seemed to lift me up into a dream-like state. How the unfolding of such primal grace, in the center of twilight, can exist at all. How I am here to experience it all. Yeh, gratitude. Best leave it at that — I gotta get me ready for work. Independence Day is right around the corner. The heat of Summer is  . . . . oh, never mind. Gotta go.

Peace out ,y’all. Goof gloriously.

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