It is amazing how hard I work to forget the most elemental things. That the true might be what is good in the way of belief, and that what is true in this moment time and place might not partake in Truth that exists independently of all moments times and places - and so what, really? - but also that calling out in a crowd that the emperor has no clothes is no substitute for inaction when someone close by has no food, no chance. I am presently at home in the rarefied air in which this insomnia subsists and presently at home in the skin and fleshy sack of mortal coil that includes a smile and sigh and inhale/exhale made manifest. For a moment there, I had the charge, the spark, the irreverent but real samsara. And I’m sure I’ll lose it and have to try hard to find it again, to greater or lesser avail and with sharper or blunter acuity. So it goes, as it comes.