the master sergeant, tender one that he is, tells me in conversation (after reading the previous post) that i am missing the point… when asked why, he tells me that to think i do not ‘get my point across’ is a foolishness.
he says that one can point at the moon with any body part, but to use the finger is what it is to point. he says that in a galaxy of things, to even be able to point to one as opposed to another is the point of the point.
he says he doesn’t think you can hit someone with a completely new idea. it’s nothing more than words they already recognize, but it is the process of stringing words like pearls until another can say, ‘oh, that is a necklace!’ that is the art, the science, and in truth, the mastery.
he has a point. and i see he points to the moon. and i laugh, because no, i didn’t look at his finger. so perhaps all this waggling about and rolling in the dirt is its own conceit, fear of failure as pride, if that makes sense.
heh. he and his two sons are waiting for pizza to be done… i am typing as we talk… and the thoughts are scrolling and spinning here in ways that sometimes amaze me… i love how his thoughts spark my own. i love how he gets what i mean, even when i do not always know what i mean myself.
but most of all, i love how he works with me to help me understand what i mean, and doesn’t hold it against me when i am bumping into walls and cursing my own clumsiness. i love how he tells me how graceful i am as i’m stubbing my toes.
i love how he is.
and i love how he gifts me with an image of myself that i do not yet recognize… but perhaps, if i am mindful, careful, and kind… someday, i will.