In moments of discontinuity, context becomes content, and we see who we really are. My wife was diagnosed this week with breast cancer. The windshield of our conjoined lives was spattered with fear grief the pain of love the threat of loss and helplessness. We saw our lives with ferocious clarity, aided by news that abraded our hearts, rendering them vulnerable and open. The simple truth is, we belong to another only when we have surrendered the safe distance that would let us hedge our bets.
Love is only love when it is played out with real money on the table.
There has been an acceleration of the tidal wave of greed, centered on the quaking that is Silicon Valley. The pursuit of wealth without earning it, the hunger of grunting pigs hunting truffles, has driven more and more people to sacrifice their real lives in order to possess symbols of life. We burn to possess that which will vanish if we try to grasp it. Donkeys trotting in circles after imaginary carrots. When a truck comes suddenly out of our blind spot and splatters mud on the windshield, then we pay attention.