i read the loveliest metaphor the other day, from Talmage. about past traditions being destroyed in favor of new ones only insomuch as a seed is destroyed by the sprouting of the plant inside it, the bud by the blossoming flower it gives birth to.
as one who is prone to mourn the past even before it becomes the past, i think i may cherish that image forever. time is a noose--but the past doesn't really die, it becomes.
i'm not sure what i'm going to do with that revelation. but there it is.
things that are being worked on:
writing:
reading:
other:
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