The Book From Singapore



Post arrives from far away. A gift.
182 similes printed; thumbed, skim read, an embraceable greed: desirous to learn.
One page found marked by a folded corner. Opened, this page speaks of uncertainty. Uncertainty in all things: as the base nature of things.
A tree grows, it says; and how to tell which flowers will blow away and which will bloom to fruit?
Without uncertainty, the joy is less; the petals' value fixed.
Without uncertainty, no quest: it makes a futility of any bravery test.
Much to mull over as the sleep coffee balance is recalibrated.

Comments

Suze said…
Sigh. Just sent out five queries after strong inner turbulence had me paralyzed for upwards of three weeks. The perfect post.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
31 January 2014 at 00:02
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you lovely ladies :-)
Keep sending Suze! xxx
31 January 2014 at 17:53
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