Hello? It is very quiet and still here tonight.
It feels as though there has been too much output with too little input.
There is a need for something fabulous to occur. *glitter*
Instead, it is becoming winter.
We turn inward.
What will our frosty reflections bring about?
Can hot chocolate soothe a soul to release its secrets?
Everything I have told is too much, but it is not yet enough.
What if we all went silent?
What if we refused to tell our stories?
What if there were no stories to tell?
We would cease to communicate.
We would stop being human.
It would be so easy to fail to mark the passage of time with ceremony.
We could pass from one day to the next unfettered.
Our sense of loss only comes in retrospect.
Like looking out on an empty driveway after company has gone.
We turn away.
How are we so alone yet all together?
Can we accept what we are given?
Everything I have told is too much, but it is not yet enough.
(hat tip to Douglas Coupland, Microserfs, and the mind dump)
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"We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world." — Buddha