January 22, 1976
I am most inside my mind critically
when I am most outside my mind
critically. The same. Pain is diminshing
the way the sea subsides. I watched it
from outside. I reach outside myself
not so desperately as before. Allowing
myself to regress uncritically but
quietly bringing myself back again.
If it doesn't work out the way you
want it to it still works itself out
some way. There is still being in that.
I can't adore the silence. In one
space every small movement is vast, in
that movement I am a whole world.
It's surprise at being, it's a little
defiant but defiance can be over-used
the way anything can be. If I am
not thinking I am not thinking of the
whole world, each individual
amplitude, the variation and
complication of each shading even in
the most familiar objects. Every
moment has duration, a presentiment,
a disclosure, a destiny and a
specific quality all its own. Every
moment is a potential memory
in the form of scheduled activities,
into categories of existing. But when
these approaches to fulfillment fail
we wonder why. Maybe they lacked a
lead-in to something else and thus
left you stranded, confused about
what to do next. The predicted,
the genuinely experienced presentifment of
the future can be a blindfold because
it excludes the moments *between*, the
gap between the shared events.
That is your private world.
If I'm running from my mind to
the outside, to bring in some interest
in it outside itself, or something outside
itself to make it forget itself I am
probably avoiding something it could
deal with irself. Right now I
am utterly astounded by the continued
silence of my telephone. But that is
always an aspect of being astounded
that I can still exist without using
it. In sleep I am *one*, but awake I
am *two*- me and the person called
"myself" that watches me. A mind that's
afraid of itself can't "get in tune."
If I do that in being anxious about
my "life" (my biography) I take
the whole confusion one step further.