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Sometimes my brain seems like hard, dry ground. If too much information is poured onto it, a lot runs off, and down the gutter. More soaks in from a gentle rain than from a fire hose. Even so, it sometimes sits in pools for days before it settles into the soil. Eventually the ground softens, and some time later I begin to notice hints of green. Tiny leaves of knowledge, sprouting.
Sometimes bits of information are more like ping-pong balls, fired from all directions. I see them all, but can only grab so many before they bounce away. I might notice that several went off into a corner, and I can go and collect them later, but many more escape.
And then there are times like tonight, when something precious is gently offered. I accept it with both hands, not sure what it is, and hold it as tightly as I dare, for fear of dropping it. It seems fragile, and important. Rare. I turn it this way and that in the light, feel the roughness and smoothness of it, and listen for any sound. Perhaps if I sit quietly enough, and look into it long enough, I will understand its message.
08-24-2010 11:28 PM 