A Beggar at the Train Station

 

The Kingdom of Heaven among us might be a Purloined Letter, lying on the surface, in an unexpected place. Singing.

What gifts do we miss, among Lotto tickets, street musicians, and critics, seducers, and fashionistas who do our thinking for us?

Life?

Philanthropists tell of visiting those they want to help, looking for an opening, only to be stymied by uninterruptable hostility and complaint, from offering an open hand. Life is like a philanthropist, a giver of gifts.

The dilemma is, we don't know what it is that we don't know. We walk around in a human perceptual system that must filter, and the long-standing rough-and-ready filters are portable prisons in the midst of plenty & beauty. Maybe some reprogramming is called for, an inner category named "what-th'???"  Enlivened by entertaining what Byron Katie calls the bliss of The Don't - [Already] - Know Mind.

As it was for Manuel in Fawlty Towers, the high comedy -- "comedy" here as the Shakespearean happy ending -- comes when "I know nothing" about the right things; and ("What You Will") do not suppose myself completely in charge.

Via The Massketeers

Photo from "Po: River of Pain and Plenty,” May 2002, National Geographic magazine, of "Cremona, home of the Stradivarius violin, where artisans from around the globe learn to build instruments the way the maestro did: by hand, one at a time."