Somewhere people are laughing in a cafe.
But I am looking in a cardboard box for a tax file from 1987.
As I look for the tax file, I find a solitary button in a cellophane wrapper and try to decide whether to keep the button, and if so, whether to leave it in the box of tax files
or whether to find a new place for the button, and if so, where that place would be, and then I examine the button, noting its deep brown color and then I see that it is broken, and I wonder, Well, this button is broken, and yet the package is not opened, what shall I do?
Thusly are the hours of our days flushed down the toilet.
Thusly do we feel the crushing, deathly weight of meaninglessness.
Thusly do we abandon forthwith any such project of getting organized.
We go out into the sunshine and it is still beautiful. We sit in a cafe and laugh.
We come home and there are still boxes on the floor. We sit among them and weep and curse the gods.
I suspect I am not alone in this.
Thus we seek to become aware of the qualities of time, and the qualities of space, and try to live in this world as it is.
copyright 2009 Ann Krueger Spivack
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