Another load of laundry

//Another load of laundry

Another load of laundry

Something came up yesterday that I just knew was the next entry here. Involved with some other preoccupation at the time, I had no choice but to put off the noting of that brilliant moment.
And now as I sit before the screen to finally make record of it, whatever « it » was has escaped me.
What remains « present » is the « absence, » the « presence » of what-might-have-been-but-isn’t. I’m left with not knowing what’s « present » or what’s « absent » because they both are and are not.
Stop making sense, the Talking Heads song goes. I have another load of laundry to do.

By | 2015-10-02T15:27:57+01:00 mars 9th, 2013|Textes|2 Comments

About the Author:

Enseignante Zen et poète, Sensei Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell est née et a grandi à Minneapolis, aux Etats-Unis. Arrivée en France en 1981 pour étudier la littérature et l’histoire, elle y est restée, s’installant à Paris, où elle élève ses deux enfants et gagne sa vie en tant que journaliste. The Zen teacher and poet Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell Sensei was born and raised in Minneapolis, but came to France in 1981 to study literature and history and has lived in Paris ever since, raising her two children and making a living as a journalist.


  1. 23 juillet 2013 at 3 h 32 min - Reply
  2. anonimous 15 mars 2013 at 0 h 15 min - Reply

    Hoje li este texto no comboio, a caminho do emprego:
    “ XV
    Quem sou? Tem piada, não me lembro de jamais mo perguntar – quem sou? E desde quando comecei a sê-lo? (…) Acaso saberei jamais quem sou? Ou o que sou, que é um pouco para cá disso? E que é que sou, fora do que fui sendo? Que é que perdura em mim do que fui sendo?
    O que sou, é curioso, o que sou é.”
    (Vergílio Ferreira, Para Sempre, s. l.: Círculo de Leitores, 1985, p.86).
    Sublinhei a última frase, “o que sou é”, e fechei o livro porque o comboio tinha acabado de chegar à estação. Tirei os óculos, guardei o livro, ajustei a mochila, desci as escadas –

    I’ve read this text [piece of a novel] today, in the train on my way to work:
    Who am I? It’s funny, I do not remember ever asking me – who am I? And since when did I start to be what I am? (…) Will I ever know who I am? Or what I am, which is a little down here, to this side? And what I am, beside what I have been [was being]? What lingers in me from what I have been [was being]?
    What I am, this is curious, what I am… is. "
    (Vergílio Ferreira, Para Sempre, s. l.: Círculo de Leitores, 1985, p.86).
    I’ve underlined the last phrase, “what I am is," and closed the book because the train had just arrived at the station. I took off my glasses, put the book away [in my backpack], adjusted my backpack, went downstairs —

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