Det här inlägget är tillägnat min största förebild: Log Lady. Åh, all hennes visdom! Hennes fina log som (troligtvis) innehåller en bit (eller kanske hela) hennes mans själ. Jag önskar jag vore lite mer som Log Lady.
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“A log is a portion of a tree. At the end of a crosscut log — many of you know this — there are rings. Each ring represents one year in the life of the tree. How long it takes to a grow a tree! I don’t mind telling you some things. Many things I, I musn’t say. Just notice that my fireplace is boarded up. There will never be a fire there. On the mantelpiece, in that jar, are some of the ashes of my husband. My log hears things I cannot hear. But my log tells me about the sounds, about the new words. Even though it has stopped growing larger, my log is aware.”
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“Is a dog man’s best friend? I had a dog. The dog was large. It ate my garden, all the plants, and much earth. The dog ate so much earth it died. Its body went back to the earth. I have a memory of this dog. The memory is all that I have left of my dog. He was black — and white.”
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“The heart — it is a physical organ, we all know. But how much more an emotional organ — this we also know. Love, like blood, flows from the heart. Are blood and love related? Does a heart pump blood as it pumps love? Is love the blood of the universe?”
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“I play my part on my stage. I tell what I can to form the perfect answer. But that answer cannot come before all are ready to hear. So I tell what I can to form the perfect answer. Sometimes my anger at the fire is evident. Sometimes it is not anger, really. It may appear as such, but could it be a clue? The fire I speak of is not a kind fire.”
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“The beautiful thing about treasure is that it exists. It exists to be found. How beautiful it is to find treasure. Where is the treasure, that when found, leaves one eternally happy? I think we all know it exists. Some say it is inside us — inside us one and all. That would be strange. It would be so near. Then why is it so hard to find, and so difficult to attain?”
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“Sometimes nature plays tricks on us and we imagine we are something other than what we truly are. Is this a key to life in general? Or the case of the two-headed schizophrenic? Both heads thought the other was following itself. Finally, when one head wasn’t looking, the other shot the other right between the eyes, and, of course, killed himself.”
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“Can you see through a wall? Can you see through human skin? X-rays see through solid, or so-called solid objects. There are things in life that exist, and yet our eyes cannot see them. Have you ever seen something startling that others cannot see? Why are some things kept from our vision? Is life a puzzle? I am filled with questions. Sometimes my questions are answered. In my heart, I can tell if the answer is correct. I am my own judge. In a dream, are all the characters really you? Different aspects of you? Do answers come in dreams? One more thing: I grew up in the woods. I understand many things because of the woods. Trees standing together, growing alongside one another, providing so much. I chew pitch gum. On the outside, let’s say of the ponderosa pine, sometimes pitch oozes out. Runny pitch is no good to chew. Hard, brittle pitch is no good. But in between there exists a firm, slightly crusted pitch with such a flavor. This is the pitch I chew.”
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“As above, so below. The human being finds himself, or herself, in the middle. There is as much space outside the human, proportionately, as inside. Stars, moons, and planets remind us of protons, neutrons, and electrons. Is there a bigger being walking with all the stars within? Does our thinking affect what goes on outside us, and what goes on inside us? I think it does. Where does creamed corn figure into the workings of the universe? What really is creamed corn? Is it a symbol for something else?”
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“My husband died in a fire. No one can know my sorrow. My love is gone. Yet, I feel him near me. Sometimes I can almost see him. At night when the wind blows, I think of what he might have been. Again I wonder: why? When I see a fire, I feel my anger rising. This was not a friendly fire. This was not a forest fire. It was a fire in the woods. This is all I am permitted to say.”
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“Sometimes — well, let’s say all times — things are changing. We are judged as human beings on how we treat our fellow human beings. How do you treat your fellow human beings? At night, just before sleep, as you lay by yourself in the dark, how do you feel about yourself? Are you proud of your behavior? Are you ashamed of your behavior? You know in your heart if you have hurt someone — you know. If you have hurt someone, don’t wait another day before making things right. The world could break apart with sadness in the meantime.”
Log Lady: a poem as lovely as a tree:
As the night wind blows, the boughs move to and fro.
The rustling, the magic rustling that brings on the dark dream.
The dream of suffering and pain.
Pain for the victim, pain for the inflictor of pain.
A circle of pain, a circle of suffering.
Woe to the ones who behold the pale horse.