ink_drops ever dumbening There is a core that develops when we are children, an inner tuning fork. Those around us, that help build this core, vibrate at the same frequency. And when many years later we walk past someone from those long gone days, we ring again. Today I randomly happened upon someone I had not seen since I was thirteen, over twenty-one years ago. He, too, now lives in Oakland. Considerably stranger is that about nine months ago I had (through random chance) a date with his cousin, but that's a whole other thread. And but so I wondered about his life, and my life, and the currents that brought us flowing to standing there and talking of even more little pieces of that original core, and where they are. He mentioned John W. and John S. And I spoke of Jeremy and Peter and Ian, and of seeing them in New Orleans. And how Margot and Debbie used to visit relatives out here long ago, when I first came this way. I think quite often about others from my days at Delmar-Harvard elementary school in Missouri_University_City. Their successes, their struggles, the ones already lost. I think of the ones I have yet to cross paths with again. Where and why will we come together again? With time, like a portrait of motion, like a handful of crushed red inky earth that Andy Goldsworthy throws into a slowly swirling pool of water, we spread and drift. But we're still there in that water, always with a chance to pass another little spot of ink we shared close quarters with. Is there some kind of lesson, some natal unit that always informs, even in its relative dilution? Or are we just ink drops, pushed by Brownian motion, meaninglessly? 040721 ... Forrest Gump I don't know if Momma was right or if, if it's Lieutenant Dan. I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think... maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. 040721 ... . . 041106 what's it to you? who go blather from