“Reality is divinely indifferent, Richard. A mother doesn’t care what part her child plays in his games; one day bad-guy, next day good-guy. The Is doesn’t even know about our illusions and games. It only knows Itself, and us in its likeness, perfect and finished.” “I’m not sure I want to be perfect and finished. Talk about boredom...” “Look at the sky,” he said, and it was such a quick subject change that I looked at the sky. There was some broken cirrus, way up high, the first bit of moonlight silvering the edges. “Pretty sky,” I said. “It is a perfect sky?” “Well, it’s always a perfect sky, Don.” “Are you telling me that even though it’s changing every second, the sky is always a perfect sky?” “Gee, I’m smart. Yes!” “And the sea is always a perfect sea, and it’s always changing, too,” he said. “If perfection is stagnation, then heaven is a swamp! And the Is ain’t hardly no swamp-cookie.” “Isn’t hardly no swamp-cookie,” I corrected, absently. “Perfect, and all the time changing. Yeah. I’ll buy that.” “You bought it a long time ago, if you insist on time.” I turned to him as we walked. “Doesn’t it get boring for you, Don, staying on just this one dimension?” “Oh. Am I staying on just this one dimension?” he said. “Are you?” “Why is it that everything I say is wrong?” “Is everything you say wrong?” he said. “I think I’m in the wrong business.” “You think maybe real estate?” he said. “Real estate or insurance.” “There’s a future in real estate, if you want one.” “OK. I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want a future. Or a past. I’d just as soon become a nice old Master of the World of Illusion. Looks like maybe in another week?” “Well, Richard, I hope not that long!” I looked at him carefully, but he wasn’t smiling.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Mar 2014 06:12:18 +0000