It takes four and a half hours to travel 3,000 miles. I guess I'm still getting used to the 1970s. I ate a Pat's cheese steak at 8:30 AM eastern tie after landing in Philly, which also equates to 5:30 AM according to my body's west coast chronology. My intestines are still paying the price.

I've been reading a lot of Jiddu Krishnamurti lately, an 20th century philosopher that blows my mind. Trying to single out one quote is futile. Of the several topics that hit home with me, he speaks of how one can be addicted to knowledge, and in this addiction a person can become deadened to their experience and, in the human need to qualify and identify with traditions and ways of thought, avoid what is unknown. To my understanding, the unknown can only be reached through risk and action. Intention or latent ability cannot jump off the cliff to see how the water feels below.

Every time I come home I wait for something profound to happen or reveal itself to me. I think lately the problem has been that I've left my eyes closed to experience, thinking and trying to take connections too much. Profundity doesn't linger, as it shouldn't - there are more surprises ahead. Waiting for it is a blindfold, even if you often only catch it as it speeds past.