Sunday, October 26, 2003

Which reminds me of another such time:

Bill and I were lying in bed. He'd dropped off to sleep and I was still very much awake with a mind that wouldn't shut down -- except in its own good time.

At some point I nudged him awake and asked, "...Bill, was it you who told me that -- there are two simplicities; one that comes before and one that comes after -- complexity?" He (generously) woke enough to give it some thought and said, "No. I didn't, Hon, but that's an impressive statement. Wish I'd thought of it."

Still troubled, I worried it for a bit longer than dropped off to sleep.

About two weeks later I was spending an overnight in Big Sur country, visiting with son, Bob and his lady-of-the-moment and her very young baby daughter, Gretel. I was sitting -- comfortably tucked into a blanket as I was left to listen for the sleeping baby while they drove in to pick up dinner in the village. Picked up a magazine that was lying on the low table. While absently leafing through, my breath was stopped for an instant when I read one of those tiny inserts that sometimes appears in the middle of the page of a magazine -- it said, "In life there are two simplicities, one that comes before and one that comes after complexity." It was credited to the Monk, Reindl-Nast, of Canada.

Dialed Bill in Berkeley and read it to him.

It's that thing that happens, the inexplicable. The sense of being out of sync with time. It's like knowing the date of Rick's death when his body wasn't discovered for three weeks... .

One day I'll tell you about that, but not yet.