Curious psychological things occur when I don’t wonder why I’m happy or sad. Why do the waters of a lake come over me, bringing home the groceries? What was I thinking of on my way from, or on my way to? And do I wonder why I’m in the sky, bringing home the groceries? Subtle, subtle. In my Volkswagen, driven, wherever the balance tends, I am weighted with milk and bread, cabbage and carrots, toward home, or pulled, with the traffic, away. Subtle, subtle. It’s enough to guess, but rare to ask. Clues to the mysteries of life.
5 July 1986