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The spiritual and the profane
Dec. 10th, 2005 01:54 pmQuote of the day:
"In the sweaty, passionate, filthy embrace, in all of its delicious and time-dissolving power, in the midst of that embrace there is no difference, no separation between the spiritual and the profane. But it's reached through the profane rather than through the spiritual, at least in my canon. That is the portal, that is the door into the whole affair. In that moment there is no separation, there is no spirit and flesh, there's no conflict, there never was."
—Leonard Cohen
Favorite sight of the day: As I was driving to work yesterday morning through Venice, heading up Washington to Pacific, I passed the Grand Canal. The ducks huddled together on the walkways or waddled up the street, and the water actually looked sparkly for a change instead of brownish. The sun was out, but the streets crisp from a stray shower of rain. Folks wandered in and out of coffee shops, dressed in that funky off-beat Venice style—a million miles from the suburbia I've moved to—a million miles, and no distance at all.
The drive in was easy, but horrible the day before, and I'd thought perhaps it was time to try the freeway instead of surface streets. But seeing this sight, mellow ducks and water, humans living on a human scale, I knew I wasn't ready to give up those streets for the inhuman efficiency of the highway.
In that moment, no expediency mattered, just the moment that fed my soul, regardless of the meandering route I took. There was no conflict, there never was.
"In the sweaty, passionate, filthy embrace, in all of its delicious and time-dissolving power, in the midst of that embrace there is no difference, no separation between the spiritual and the profane. But it's reached through the profane rather than through the spiritual, at least in my canon. That is the portal, that is the door into the whole affair. In that moment there is no separation, there is no spirit and flesh, there's no conflict, there never was."
—Leonard Cohen
Favorite sight of the day: As I was driving to work yesterday morning through Venice, heading up Washington to Pacific, I passed the Grand Canal. The ducks huddled together on the walkways or waddled up the street, and the water actually looked sparkly for a change instead of brownish. The sun was out, but the streets crisp from a stray shower of rain. Folks wandered in and out of coffee shops, dressed in that funky off-beat Venice style—a million miles from the suburbia I've moved to—a million miles, and no distance at all.
The drive in was easy, but horrible the day before, and I'd thought perhaps it was time to try the freeway instead of surface streets. But seeing this sight, mellow ducks and water, humans living on a human scale, I knew I wasn't ready to give up those streets for the inhuman efficiency of the highway.
In that moment, no expediency mattered, just the moment that fed my soul, regardless of the meandering route I took. There was no conflict, there never was.