Sunday, January 08, 2017

Day 8. Sunday Morning


Nobody watches TV anymore. An old portrait of one's self  hangs on a wall. A box with pastel colors neatly laid out lies on the bed. The red door closes and opens; and the blue dumbbells roll to the sides near the wall. The road outside is quiet.  These are some of the things one observes inside the house when one is not in a hurry, some inconsequential facts and happenings with no purpose but to be there. But it affords the mind a glimpse of Descartes's insight about the one thing that cannot be doubted -- there is a self that thinks. There is a self that observes. There is a self. On a different day, some of these observations would still be the same and some would be different. But nobody would care because the events of the day take place outside the house and the mind is adrift somewhere already busy before things would happen. This leads to the question: what if there were no days like these and the mind is adrift always, busy, adding, subtracting, communicating out there with the world? Surely, the self would get lost, get scattered, and worn down, perhaps it won't even recognize itself. That self would find no home, even if that self has a mansion of a house. There is truth in the adage, remember to keep holy the Sabbath day.

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