What can we say besides "open thread"? I realize that all manner of spiritual and emotional retard are enlivened at the prospect of leaving a flaming bag of moonbat droppings on my doorstep, but I don't even use that door, so there's no point. It's just a decoy. I inhere in here, in the ineffable celestial hammock, which neither tongue nor dung has ever soiled.
Beyond that, I have nothing new to report. As related awhile back, retirement seems to have spread from the extremities to the core, or from the accident to the substance, although in my case I suspect that retirement is the substance.
For it is one thing to be the laziest man in Los Angeles County in potential, another thing to finally, after years of strategic non-doodling, to actualize this potential. Truly, this is to be nonactualized -- or to be actualized into an emphatically radical apophatical sabbatical.
Am I actually doing nothing? Yes, and it takes all day to get it done. I suppose I really am a human invert, a Homo Slackiens, a type O personality, an in-activist, an unfashionable leisure coot, in that my ways are not their ways, nor are my thoughts their thoughts.
Still having plenty of the latter, but they float in from God-knows-where and drift past like clouds in the fog.
This follows Eckhart's fivefold plan to the letter:
Leave place, leave time,
Avoid even image!
Go forth without a way
On the narrow path,
Then you will find the desert track.
Says Bernard McGinn,
A mysticism based upon a "wayless way" to an unknown God of absolute freedom can only bear fruit in a "whylessness" that will probably seem either empty of meaning or potentially dangerous to those who know nothing of it.
Yeah, probably. So don't take it from me. Take it from Nicolás:
God is the guest of silence.
In certain moments of abundance, God overflows into the world like a spring gushing into the peace of midday.
God is not the object of my reason, nor of my sensibility, but of my being.
The soul is fed from what is mysterious in things.
We are saved from daily tedium only by the impalpable, the invisible, and the ineffable.
I only contemplate wisps of truth that twist in the night gusts.
The believer is not the inheritor of estates inscribed in land registries but is the admiral of the sea fronting the coasts of an unexplored continent.
And finally,
A man is wise if he has no ambition for anything but lives as if he had an ambition for everything.
