I pose these questions, laughing to myself. I am back in Florida, sitting in my comfortable bungalow, my pied a terre. My surroundings are similar, yet contrasting, to where I was, in my Costa Rican casita.
I also laugh, because these were the philosophical curiosities that, at one time, dominated my life, and seemingly separated me from others.
Everyone else appeared to be on the treadmill of life, heading in a direction, that I had no map for.
Through my own mental processes I became as “existential as a roadside chicken”.
Conflict is at the root of good writing ~ man against man ~ man against nature ~ man against himself. First there is a problem, to be followed by resolution. Writing mimics life.
Since I last wrote , I decided to not have conflict: to not think, only to breath.
I feel as if I have surfed time. It’s March 2nd, 2013 8:45.
There is no problem.
Nothing I could have said or done, in the time since I have last written, would have been a better solution than merely breathing.