far away

I wonder where I am. A rare moment and I found myself looking through the blogs in the right hand column here. I looked at Tim Etchells’ notebook and then I looked at infinite thought. So much input out there. Before I came away, I was dependent like an addict on some of these blogs. They kept me alive, I felt, in a kind of way. Or they helped to provide an input I needed. And I think I still need. Reading infinite thought today, I realised that something had been missing in my head. I have been so far from all the thinking that goes on out there. So much thinking. Too much thinking, maybe, that I had forgotten how to think and how to let myself respond to what is there all around. Much more doing here. Much more watching. Much more listening. Less thinking. We live in very different worlds (I think). Globalisation, yes. But the worlds are very different. And from here, the world in which I normally live seems so incredibly far away, and in some ways, so very self-obsessed.

Someone told me today, in trying to help me understand what he believes is the difference between the European and the African, ‘The African is an idealist, the European is a materialist.’ A simplification too far, no doubt, for some, but with some raw truth in it nonetheless.

I met a lady the other day who asked me about my children. When I admitted to having none, at the age of forty, she simply said one word. Egoista! Just like that. Selfish woman! It´s hard to argue with that judgement, even though her snap judgement was a bit too quick for my liking. It seems to cut to the core of different ways of being.

In truth, I’ve been thinking much more about mermaids than children. I’m more interested in mermaids, and luckily there are many people here who like talking about mermaids, and who have seen mermaids, and whose grandparents have seen mermaids. There are less mermaids now, I’m told, because people have taken to having sex on the beaches. The mermaids don’t like that. Mermaids. Mermaids. Many mermaids. And mermaids also do not like women. And they are usually white. Might I be mistaken for a mermaid?

Thinking about cranes. Thinking about cranes and religion, spurred on by infinite thought. And how to say what I mean without saying anything at all. That is an art which has been perfected in some places, but certainly not in the place where I come from. It is an art I have failed to understand, or to learn, and one which I am always witnessing. It is an art. A real art. A real skill. Which takes years of practice.