5 January, 1977
A beautiful thick and heavy card with pearls of wisdom came through my door, with wishes for Christmas and the new year. It was most necessary to keep me going, to keep a lazy body perking up.
Time is running away from me, no cohesion in my life or lifestyle any longer and I really do not care. Who needs a lifestyle? All styles are good.
Good wishes and thoughts come to me from old and new friends anyway. What could be better? A sufi recently told me he and his school were seeking their identities. In so seeking, they rejected an applicant. He would have jeopardized their seeking their identity they said. Now, would he? and if so, so what? What is identity? an illusion. Good to get rid of. But no, at a certain stage, for some, this seeking and finding an identity seems so important. Maybe I should reread, re-estimate, but anyway, for me there is no such thing as identity, nor seeking it. seems it is like limiting yourself, turning yourself into a pat ego. There is a stream of which I am gently and increasingly conscious. It is beyond identity. I try to be in it, part of it. Whatever it is.
Forgive my many words. So useless, aren’t they? but then, what is useful?
Happy new years, more and more of them. It rains here. I made it.
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