CHAPTER THREE  -  Rumi. 

WEEK EIGHT. conversation by clair and tom

"Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being..".
.

Rumi

 ~ ~ ~

They walk in the park and come across the stump of a giant tree. They study its rings of growth and point out historical dates. She indicates a point in space outside the circumference of the tree and hears herself say: 'This, is where I come from...'
Tom  

its not right and its not wrong. its just a feeling.  like everything, is just a feeling.   and happiness, is just a feeling.  

he needs a smaller house,  she needs a great big  ranch, to give that same feeling.   
she needs to be adored, he needs to live abroad, to get that same feeling. 
he needs a little mouse and she needs a very small louse to get that same feeling.  
she needs a strippy ren, he needs a family of 10 to get that same feeling.

what do you need?  
clair

As you journey along a path you meet an old man.

 

He tells you that modern neuroscience has proved that all our actions and decisions are merely the machinations of a predetermined universe and that our concept of free will is naught but a comforting illusion.

 

If you agree with his hypothesis, turn to page 72

 

If you disagree, turn to page 72

tom

   

:)..... here we are then, on page 72 i guess.. thing is,  its the same page either way you look at it..... cos  if we are predestined to make all the decisions we make or if we are not predesined.... my destiny might be that i change my mind a lot.  it might be that i dont. 

i feel like i have lost my path over the last few weeks.  my minds wings have decayed  into an old cabbage.  i keep saying no instead of yes, its almost a relief. ... but only almost.

c

If you look then friends, lovers, opportunities, objects, desires, interests, ideas... will come in and out of your life, some will stay forever, some for a long time and some for only for a short while.

 

I enjoy the idea of compartmentalising parts of my life, like chapters in book. As, like the coast, things are always changing. An appreciation of the beauty of natural things, small things, achievements, experience and a love of creativity... For me, gives meaning to life and is the veil that separates us from beasts. Otherwise we’re just a million little gods, causing rainclouds, turning every good thing to rust.  

Should I end up old, sitting in a home, waiting to die. I want be looking out over the sea, looking back over my life and relationships with people and be content with how I conducted myself and confident that I made the most out of the opportunities life offered. And I hope the empty shells and bones those stories will litter and clutter the shores. And I hope that when I find them, I'll remember how they danced and the racket they made, when they were alive.

tom

 

that was a great piece of writing. especially :

'the veil that separates us from beasts. Otherwise we’re just a million little gods, causing rainclouds, turning every good thing to rust'.  

i love that as an image. love it.

yes, we are all sculptors sculping our lifes.  we develop our own tools, colour them, sharpen them, blunt them, shape things with them or destoy shapes with them. 

i think i am quite proud at my shaping and keeping them and doing good with them.......but  when someone else gets hold of my tools and starts cutting into the shapes i have made, the fear which develops and lack of control over this intrution kind of poisons the flight that my sculpture was starting to resemble ! 

and so its a good idea to develop clear boundaries incorporating a big sign saying 

'keep off my land ! '

in big letters like this but in fact better in even bigger red ones like this ! ! !   :

'keep off my land !'

and an electric fence to finish it all off!  hee hee

clair

 

I see flickers of a former self, and fleet glances to the side.

Reassured by hollow impressions, there are scraps there that we hide.

And fate chance those bits thought swallowed, mightn’t have gone, but crystallised.

And the intemperance of our experience, will serve only to sting our eyes.

And In the wake of all that comes to pass, from this life's gentle sip.

When we bewail our saddest elegy, and go down with this fine ship.

I hope with emphatic politeness, passed down from years gone by.

That some will stand in the furore and show, how Englishman can die..

Tom

thanks tom ,writing with you has been a pleasure c

It’s been a lovely thing to do. Thank you. x T