Flee those degrees of knowledge that necessarily increase your woes.
I thought about finding a journey to write about that would be appropriate for All Fools Day. I thought I could come up with something humorous that would be a relief from some of the ponderous stuff I've been writing lately. But instead I'm writing about something wryly funny, perhaps, but of serious foolery.
This evening I had a conversation with my friend Marty, a New York City sidewalk philosopher and concrete psychologist of the highest order. He told about a few of the women at his job who come to work with huge heavy bags of things they never use and are of no importance, but they would feel lost and naked without them. I've known other people like that. It's like a madness of possessions. One is possessed by one's possessions.
Surely I'm not like that. Am I?
I was complaining to Marty about how I can't seem to shake the doubts, fears, suspicions and painful memories of my recent experiences, and of why, even though I know I must, I can't make them unimportant to me.
That's when he told me about the ladies with the bags. Thanks to Marty I realized that along with my books, clothes, papers, paintings, bits of furniture and other things I had also brought along in a heavy bag all the memories, and reminders of the terrible time I had and was now stuffing into it the doubts and suspicions of my present life. I can't let go of all the negative feelings because I keep referring back to what is in the bag. And the reason I do that is because the bag is all I have.
Now some of my other friends like Arlene, Pacifica, Rose, Val and others have been urging me to get out, meet other people, go to the church near by and find other things to do with nice, good people. So I guess I've been putting it off because I had to take care of what's in the bag.
But none of those things matter. I brought a lot of books with me, some I won't ever read, they will go to the library. It doesn't matter what is going on in my old apartment building, if the dope is still selling dope there and who is buying it. It doesn't matter what my false and former friend is doing or where she's doing it. It doesn't matter that I'm not being driven around these days by her and have to walk places It doesn't matter what my next door neighbors are like or what they do, so I don't have to keep an eye or an ear on them. It doesn't matter what cars are parked in the parking lot so I don't have to keep looking out the window. I doesn't matter what happened or didn't happen, what was said or not said, what I knew or didn't know. None of it is important. It is all just junk in the heavy bag I lugged with me when I moved. And I've been caring about it because it was all I had. The only reason it was important to me was that I had nothing else.
Marty's advice: Take the bag out to the edge of a steep cliff and give it a boot. And anyone who is still toting around a big bag full of useless thoughts, impressions, emotions and memories, I suggest you follow Marty's advice.
Thank you Marty. Love to you.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up