Yesterday I watched an interesting documentary on writer William Gibson. I identified with a lot of what he said. One was that from an early age he knew he had to be a writer. But he had no idea then, or now, as to exactly why. Then he said that religion isn’t where he gets a sense of the spiritual. He sees religion as a sort of franchise. Like Kentucky Fried Chicken. That does not mean chicken is not served there. But for him religion provides nothing of substance.
An important spiritual principle Gibson recognizes is that we ought to live fully in the moment, and not in the past, nor in anticipating something. But that is enormously difficult to do, and he doesn't think anyone succeeds at doing it with any constancy.
That last comment reassured me. I’m glad to see that I’m not alone in my failure.
This morning is a splendid example. I’m still in the unrelenting grip of what Ernest Hemingway called Black Ass, caused largely by contemplating the brazen lies and silence that surround and suffocate me, and so I just can’t settle into appreciating NOW.
Well, maybe if I force myself to go down to the village and order an espresso doppio con latte caldo and light up a good cigar, maybe I’ll feel better.
I hope so.