A good year with a lot of snow. And solitude, too.
I don't know where I stop and where you start. We are one another's threshold and each other's mirror, and then we are one again. But we are all parts, everything is just a piece. Why do I always aim at everything, although I know that the whole can never be reached, it stays in the background, for ever there but never seen completely. We all move in parts, pieces of reality, pieces of truth, one with the other, connecting thresholds. I should know that, but still, I get sad because of the absence of sensing the whole, there must be some Heidegger traces in my thought after all. He was also concerned with that.
I put this snow note in for a Sunday after Valentine's day, although it is the best day of love it is again filled with white isolation.
Friendly neighbors help with shoveling and ask where you are. You are being a friendly neighbor somewhere else.
I don't know where I stop and where you start. We are one another's threshold and each other's mirror, and then we are one again. But we are all parts, everything is just a piece. Why do I always aim at everything, although I know that the whole can never be reached, it stays in the background, for ever there but never seen completely. We all move in parts, pieces of reality, pieces of truth, one with the other, connecting thresholds. I should know that, but still, I get sad because of the absence of sensing the whole, there must be some Heidegger traces in my thought after all. He was also concerned with that.
I put this snow note in for a Sunday after Valentine's day, although it is the best day of love it is again filled with white isolation.
Friendly neighbors help with shoveling and ask where you are. You are being a friendly neighbor somewhere else.
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