Morality as Buffer

Lately, the idea that making feet happy is to make the world happy.

More ferns, less stress.

We fell into a little gap. Yet, we found each other and together, built a bridge. The witch in the forest was satisfied, the little boy slept with ease, and little Red Riding Hood was no longer offered as a sacrifice because she was no longer a virgin.

He came home without his wedding ring and expressed a sorrow or frustration over losing it to which I said, “honestly, that is the least of my concerns.”

A palm-sized chipmunk laps water from the seam in the deck and nibbles various tree-given morsels, too small for my eye to see.

Flowers appear on the dogwood like a gradual starry night thereby upending the narrative that it is mostly dead.

What if we are made up entirely of habits and if that is so, wouldn't we need to know all of our habits in order to free ourselves or to make any real changes? Thinking, moving and feeling would all be inanimate. We would be machines. But what if we do give these things attention? Can one notice how often one “identifies” or melds? And how can this apply externally as well as internally? Sometimes I think that the processing we do of external considerations leads to a false definition or motivation of honesty. And when we are “just being honest” about something or someone, we are not identifying what is real or true, but instead, seeing some sort of buffer we created.

Morality as buffers.

You called “I” to the surface.

Now I am here.

Are we together?