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        living graciously
gary e. davis  
March 6, 2016
     
     


Tree limbs channel the wind (how quaint), fashioning ambiant grounds, thank you.

Unopened books respond with possibly promising reincarnation.

“Things” happen, by rapport, by accident. I’m inspired, I’m thrown off course for a day, I’m back.

They say: “You” can’t understand a problem, let alone work with it, if you don’t play along for awhile. So, life is regularly uncanny. Limits to dealing with complexity may
be my own, if not others’. In any case, desire for life-oriental cohering pervails for us all.

But receptiveness can become wariness about prospects for others’ responsiveness
(be that of a person or things personified).

Throughout life, I’ve refused to be held back by non-collaborators (let alone congestors). Is it cruel to find some so slacking?—while politely keeping my own counsel about that, reconciling to potential frustration of—or actually frustrating—advents (not largely other persons) not letting focus be inhibited.

Life is full of luck and the lack of it. Prudence speaks for reconciliation, going on alone, letting there be providence in project-ive time (i.e., in promising projects).

Of course, options become exhausted because that’s the way of seafaring: Some ways don’t pan out. New ways may be available in one’s life, but some originations require wholly new life. So, one dies still hoping.

So, there is death before unprecedented beginning by gifted child survivors who may gain sufficient intimacy with being in Time channeling and fashioning the Presence of
It All for where, for when we only can be well, be well, at best a point of wholly flourishing life in the pointillism of Our ever evolving advent on Earth (as luck provides).

Windy, isn’t it.

I play my way around, all prefacing, going with the flow, yet in fidelity to still opening, idealizing high appreciability, and caring with and for others as best I can, being in the sway of time.

Here, honoring the integrity of others’ lives is also honoring the mystery of their endless singularity.

 

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    © 2016, gary e. davis