odd the way such tender things appear. scooting along a thread in the web, a post, a reply, an email, a reply, a gift given and taken and regiven, then, a search for a new term, unknown yet known without knowing, and i find this gem:
i have been the mother before the king, and those words spring readily, easily to the lips. and yet, i have also been the monk, silent and baffled in my search for knowing, as if i were ever ignorant, even as the teacher cuts the cat.
it is obscene how pristine the understanding that is not, here, in this moment, and yet, is here, for this moment.
it is going to be an interesting day.