Because it *is* art, this life--and art doesn't have to be beautiful. It doesn't even have to make sense or have some greater meaning. It only has to evoke, provoke, inspire its viewer to be better or different or other or like. It just has to move you--toward or away.
Movement and stillness--that's our dance; that's what we're learning.
Imagine if we could plot our lives like we plot our road trips, our commute to work, our drive home with a stop at the grocery store/bank/post office.
Well, you know what? I think we do. I think we do, and I think we're a danger to ourselves and others because we don't realize we're doing it. We don't realize (or remember) that every thought we have, every intention, every conversation we hold with ourselves is drawing a line on the map, and it's a map we're following faithfully, whether we know it or not.
Here we are, one eye glued to the route, and one turned stubbornly inward with nothing left to watch where we're going, to look at the scenery, to see what we're missing--or avoiding. We have no idea where the trip-enhancing turn-offs are (WORLD'S BIGGEST BALL OF STRING HERE!), no idea where the breathtaking scenic overlook is because we miss every sign. Or almost every sign. Enough, anyway, to realize how rarely we look up, how rarely we stop, how rarely we rest our gaze on the...