I leave without leaving and have not yet arrived...

In five days I'll be on my way to California and then again Las Cruces, New Mexico.  I'm sad.  (Great blog...)

The good news is that we are all atman, that the static of life is the same as the static of death--the blind eternity of pre-birth in reverse.  I leave nothing, because leaving implies a separation that isn't teleologically possible considering the arrival we all face.

  I keep thinking of Italo Calvino's story in Cosmicomics that describes a love triangle during the Big Bang when the universe is condensed to a single point (I may be wrong about the details here...if you care read the whole book, it's fucking worth it).  Regardless of the impossibility of love or triangles or self or other or anything, the impossible ego feels the impossible tug. Regardless that we fall to the same end (or rise fly sing cry), our pettiness is kind of the point.

Pettiness being the point, it's no longer petty.  It's always the small things that break my heart: the broken chair on Brownie's porch, Bill's nerd lamp and the cushion stuffed under his cushion, the cardboard box keeping Brisby from going downstairs, the peculiarly Woodstocky stickiness of the floor in the bar, Doughnut's resume, the ten million corners and spots and inconsistencies of this beautiful and maculate life.  Everything else is always already forever.  

You all know how I feel about you.  You know the word I use to describe this feeling.  You know that this word is simple, ancient, and perfect.