I love the light of overcast mornings. A greyish-blue quality to things that just calms me. I find these mornings very tranquil. The colors subdued. Today the wind is calm. As I write this, a small breeze picks up. The trees move abruptly. This movement’s drama simply due to the abruptness of the change. And, of course, my expectations. Slowly, light brightens, colors emerge; but not to garish excess, just present. Green grows more visible; lighter green within the maple leaves, darker for the fir trees. And the grass somewhat in-between.
Driving along in Kirkland , home of the modern yuppie, I’m passed by a new Mercedes. Lovely, silver, shiny, new, bling-bling; a part of me loaded with insecurity twinges while I purr along in my Toyota. Why? How come this is a metric of my self-esteem? Am I being unfair to myself, being upset by this train of thought and it’s influence? Consider, please, how much this viewpoint is drilled into us. Look at how often this imagery gets pushed into our faces, and how long that’s been going on. It shouldn’t surprise me, really, that I sometimes feel this way. Though my conscious values oppose this, the lingering thread of this programming has threads into the depths psyche.
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