Hope Is Not Like A Lottery Ticket

To Lose Yourself: A Voluptuous Surrender, Lost In Your Arms, Lost To The World, Utterly Immersed In What Is Present So That Its Surroundings Fade Away. In Benjamin’s Terms, To Be Lost Is To Be Fully Present, And To Be Fully Present Is To Be Capable Of Being In Uncertainty And Mystery.

People Are Actually Very Good At Being Communists In The Sense That They Instantly Abandon Capitalism, That They Love These Relationships Of Mutual Aid, Because The Astonishing Thing About Disasters Is That People Are Often Weirdly Joyous In Them, Because They've Recovered A Sense Of Agency, A Sense Of Power, Etc.

They Are All Beasts Of Burden In A Sense, ' Thoreau Once Remarked Of Animals, 'made To Carry Some Portion Of Our Thoughts.' Animals Are The Old Language Of The Imagination; One Of The Ten Thousand Tragedies Of Their Disappearance Would Be A Silencing Of This Speech.

The Rhythm Of Walking Generates A Kind Of Rhythm Of Thinking, And The Passage Through A Landscape Echoes Or Stimulates The Passage Through A Series Of Thoughts. The Creates An Odd Consonance Between Internal And External Passage, One That Suggests That The Mind Is Also A Landscape Of Sorts And That Walking Is One Way To Traverse It. A New Thought Often Seems Like A Feature Of The Landscape That Was There All Along, As Though Thinking Were Traveling Rather Than Making.

We Know Less When We Erroneously Think We Know Than When We Recognize That We Don't.