More than 40 years back, I found myself in a NYC taxi. Though the driver didn't greet me, he didn't seem unfriendly. As he was dressed in clothes from the Indian subcontinent, I assumed he had recently arrived in the States. To know his story, I asked him in mock pidgin English: "You here, long time?" He responded in the King's English: "I have been here 10 years, but I don't know if that is long or short." We laughed. There is nothing to know....
In California, the animist gods of forest fires, floods, droughts, mudslides and earthquakes are screaming for people to leave. Yet, the false god of sentimental thinking (the self) tells some people to stay....
Fiction is our memory of non-fiction....
What happened historically is remembered hysterically....
We are born of the soul as a self for a short journey in the play of life. When we are scripted out of the play, we are no longer a self but remain the soul. The play is a divine comedy for those who remember the way of the ever-present and eternal soul. The play is a tragedy for those selves who don't know the way. They are the lost souls....
