A half-naked man runs by and stops to look back to shout someone's name and then to wave when whoever it was following comes into his sight - and then he runs on. About twenty seconds later a dog runs past and follows the man and i see no more of either.
What we do or say or think when with each other, or alone, or with a dog, or a cat, or a tv, or a phone, or with a book, or in what we call work, or a game, or with a bike, or a car, or a gun, or a needle, or any thing, or in any circumstance at all?... there is some mystery to me in how we choose it ('it' being what we say and do and think) - for most of it seems unchosen, or mistaken, or not much to our liking, or without purpose, or of no real value (though value is a word and a concept i dislike and seldom use). What is happening in all our doings? Is it all a mistake? (what am i saying?)
And now a slightly limping man walks by - he has a big pack on his back and is carrying a big bag in his right hand - he seems driven by some circumstance or purpose, perhaps unhappy, or perhaps striving with burdens, like Christian in The Pilgrim's Progress*.
But now, attending to my own circumstance and intentions, i decide to get up and walk on, or else walk home, while it's light, and the sky's so clear, the wind feels so cool and pure as i breathe (it's from the north) - i go so as to enjoy this moment in the company 'of everything' - even if out of my depth in these thoughts.
As I walked through the wilderness of this world ... I dreamed, and, behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back ... he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, What shall I do?
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