Red storm rising. Rather, a red sun rising. They say that a red sun rising (or was that setting?) heralds a bloody morning. Or evening. Whichever. But did I actually see a red sun? Indeed, did I see red at all? Am I baresark? These are questions no man knows the answer to. Or would want to know. Or care to know. A definite no-no.
I made a funny.
Indeed, it is I, Gromo, in the flesh, blood and gristle. Stretching out some kinks in the old mind, as it were. Sometimes, it feels twice as old as it actually is. In fact, the whole reason for this tentative venture outside the grey realm of Gromoland was to find the answer to a question that has been nagging me for a while. Do I hope to answer it simply by writing a meaningless blog post? Certainly not. Am I the same Gromo? Picture a lit candle at two points in time, perhaps five minutes apart. Is it the same candle?
Everybody and everything changes, that is the only constant. The Lord's Dhamma is timeless.
Let me not comment on Lothar. He is, perhaps, what I once was. The fast fading memory of an innocent, virtuous, exuberant, sometimes unbelievably stupid individual. He might be the part of me that will not die, the part that refuses to let go of the idealism I once clung to fiercely. I am no longer idealistic. Sad, but true. Oh dear, I appear to have commented.
But how can I comment without comments enabled? Such are the mysteries that boggle the mind. Muhahahaha, I am so evil.
Sadly, though spoken in jest, that last bit is ever so rapidly becoming reality. I am becoming something I have loathed for most of my adult life. Have I fallen so far?
