I said at dinner a few night ago, "The idea that kangroos have pockets is very weird." Matilda replied matter-of-factly, "It's not an idea. They do have pockets."
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I sleep, but soon
this dream will haunt
my waking steps.

The dream within the dream
becomes the context in which

I hear birds sing
after a storm.

It will become
everything,
unless I give
it up before

its slow rivers
fill the oceans

and I am drowned.

-while reading Kenzaburo Oe's Rouse Up O Young Men of the New Age!

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Last week I said I'd like to be a library, if I were a building. It's still a fine choice, but it now ranks third on my list.

1) An old country church, surrounded by crooked tombstones, and mossy, mouldy ground. A church so old and unassuming it's almost a natural feature of the landscape. My belfry would house generations of swallows' nests, and my bells would ring loud and clear over the luscious country side. An extravagent interior would contrast the quiet exterior. Inside, beautiful stain glass windows, delicate woodwork, gold leafing, and the aura of ancient sacrifice would combine to bring hope and comfort to those entering the doors. This is my opinion of what a church ought to do.

On my best days, I look past the mere material of who we are and see the invisible hooks that connect every one of us. I see the sum total of our hopes and fears, our inner-goodness; the web of humanity pulses with hope. This is how I want to see life, no matter what is really the case. Nothing changes in the underlying material reality, when I add a spiritual filter on top. Nothing changes if I remember that the filter is an abstraction, and should give hope, not despair; should forgive, not judge.

2) On a similiar principle, I'd like to be a traditional English pub in a build with a shingle outside advertising some silly archaic name. The Prancing Pig or something like it. Inside, the warm light and simple sturdy furniture would witness unending human experience and provide all with hospitality, comfort, and cheer.

3) A library where knowledge frees man from prejudice, and knowledge brings joy to its hunter. Too often I feel the academic learns in order to distance himself from others, or once he enters his studies, his mooring to reality is lost and his life becomes a petty argument about an issue that will be buried beneath the crush of human progress in a matter of mere decades...