What does knowledge mean? Agreement? To know is to decide with others that a thing is a thing.
But what is truly known? Not much. Nothing much is known. Pencil here making lines across and language coming out.
What is really known? Wood pulp pressed from trees known as paper. A jacket arm shuffling across the desk. Spicy tea passing across the lips and tongue. A certain air pressure and clogging in the sinus. Eyes open. A shadow of bald head across the windowsill. Light from behind making bright through the glasses. Sun coming up behind in the east. What is known out of all that? Sun is ball of fire in the sky, named sun. Planet cold in this area because of universal pattern.
If this body, mind, and spirit is a measurement device, what is it measuring and who besides itself is it reporting back to? What needs to be known about this experience?
And old people just as fucked up as young people. Too much information layered on. Too much hubris and thinking they know what’s going on.
An exercise in honoring what’s here. What is it to honor, to accept and to admire what is for what it is? A sermon on a ceremonialized meditation on IS-NESS.
To honor a grid of electrical wires that provide torches of light across the city streets. Honoring pavement across what was once impassable scrubland.
To honor communication wires that are connecting humans in their web of agreement? Not so much. That seems like doubtful benefit.
To know ahead of time, to go get ideas faster than the next guy. . . to play games with each other perhaps.
Communication wires facilitate both lies and agreements. Lies and more lies. Truths? Not so much. Imaginations? Yes.
What is known? Nothing. And you don’t even know that. It’s just pencil scratches on pressed wood pulp.