Is is as if life or reality itself has had it in mind all along to unravel the very design i have been trying all along to impose on it.
Often in the morning he drove a long hour or more to the markets in the city, there to behold what would determine the day__ special. With the crates of fresh selesctions snuggled into his station wagon, his thoughts on the ride back confronted the culinary equivalent of the writer__ blank page. Sometimes his head swirled with exciting ideas; other mornings he was in a panic upon returning with the same old eggplant and squash and zucchini and nothing but the dullness of the word ratatouille standing by to mock him.
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Often in the morning he drove a long hour or more to the markets in the city, there to behold what would determine the day__ special. With the crates of fresh selesctions snuggled into his station wagon, his thoughts on the ride back confronted the culinary equivalent of the writer__ blank page. Sometimes his head swirled with exciting ideas; other mornings he was in a panic upon returning with the same old eggplant and squash and zucchini and nothing but the dullness of the word ratatouille standing by to mock him.
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Now, however open a person manages to be, there is one possibility to which he remains as closed as ever: the possibility that when he uncovers his deepest anxieties he will find hidden inside them certain horrifying truths which his whole effort to control his life has been designed to keep repressed.
When we operate on the basis of the will to control, we are aware of only one kind of "evil": the failure of existence to conform to the plan we have for it.
What we work so hard to avoid is the shattering of our lives by horrors we know we will be helpless to control.
Maybe this isn't home, nor ever was- maybe home is where I have to go tonight. Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark.
To the ego, love is poison.