According to the plaque on Seattle Prep’s gateway, St. Ignatius admonished us to “Go forth in the world and light it on fire”—and it seemed to me like plenty of that happened even without the literal dimension.
Matches were struck at climbs and so much of what you hadn’t noticed was already there.
Do you see what I mean?
Anyone, anywhere can overlook the obvious. Is under-looking, even possible, though?
The sky and the lake merged and the lights from Husky stadium and the overpass construction etched golden rectangles on the glossy part of its surface
Lying before us were the foggy moors; it looked you could walk across them, the mist curling about your ankles like a fat housecat.
But that was the sky reflected upon the water; those couple of amber slices and the greenish rectangles.
There is not here, either.
And yet, as you look back on the experience, how could you want it to unfold any differently? Consider the part where you’re standing shoulder to shoulder in a bar all the while living the example your example purports to refute; I’m told that it’s the brain telling us what to do which makes it sound like we get to be some sort of robots, although ones, some would argue, who wouldn’t be conscious without bodies to have sensations.
I’m not sure about that but I am confident that the sights you get to see via two wheels and the sounds you hear on a peninsula behind a highway have everything to do with what’s going on in your mind even if the whole thing is more like an anthill that solves the so-called binding problem by creating the illusion of a self—and frankly, I’m okay with that if it means there’s an “I” that gets to have these experiences.
It’s like when you’re bouncing down dark rutted trails: is it you or your bike in control or are you simply unbound together?
Matches were struck at climbs and so much of what you hadn’t noticed was already there.
Do you see what I mean?
Anyone, anywhere can overlook the obvious. Is under-looking, even possible, though?
The sky and the lake merged and the lights from Husky stadium and the overpass construction etched golden rectangles on the glossy part of its surface
Lying before us were the foggy moors; it looked you could walk across them, the mist curling about your ankles like a fat housecat.
But that was the sky reflected upon the water; those couple of amber slices and the greenish rectangles.
There is not here, either.
And yet, as you look back on the experience, how could you want it to unfold any differently? Consider the part where you’re standing shoulder to shoulder in a bar all the while living the example your example purports to refute; I’m told that it’s the brain telling us what to do which makes it sound like we get to be some sort of robots, although ones, some would argue, who wouldn’t be conscious without bodies to have sensations.
I’m not sure about that but I am confident that the sights you get to see via two wheels and the sounds you hear on a peninsula behind a highway have everything to do with what’s going on in your mind even if the whole thing is more like an anthill that solves the so-called binding problem by creating the illusion of a self—and frankly, I’m okay with that if it means there’s an “I” that gets to have these experiences.
It’s like when you’re bouncing down dark rutted trails: is it you or your bike in control or are you simply unbound together?
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