The words I repeat often, sottovoce, and are the closest thing to a mantra that comes out of my mouth, usually just before or sometimes after.
But I haven't succeeded.
and I haven't been able to achieve any sort of state of enlightenment.
I think of Kasturba
and wonder how she felt about the Mahatma's vow of chastity.
Was she tired of it all, and relieved to be done with all that.
Or was she angry and resentful, despite the higher calling and important things in the world that needed doing outside.
But then I think of Bukowski, who couldn't be bothered with any of that,
and a bug on the wall while he's sitting on the pot writing poetry.
And we know how that ends.
|"Desire", 3'x6" original wood engraving with hand set type and egg tempera.|