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So I don't exist. Or I don't exist and do exist at the same time. So what? I still have to get up in the morning, I still have to deal with my credit card balance, my mother-in-law, and this guy whose elbow is crushing my ribs on this crowded subway car. It might make interesting reading, but in the final analysis, what difference does it make?

The things we do with words: mind, heart, speech, body and environment . . .

When you’re feeling sad, do you go to your father or to your mother? Is it transcendence that you seek, or the solacing embrace that assures us that nothing is meaningless, that everything we are and feel can be borne, inhabited and redeemed?