Or suppose (ii): Reverence. Serenity. Faith in the power
responsible.
- When jarred, unavoidably, by circumstances, revert at
once to yourself, and don’t lose the rhythm more than you can
help. You’ll have a better grasp of the harmony if you keep
on going back to it. - If you had a stepmother and a real mother, you would pay
your respects to your stepmother, yes... but it’s your real
mother you’d go home to.
The court... and philosophy: Keep returning to it, to rest
in its embrace. It’s all that makes the court—and you—
endurable.
- Like seeing roasted meat and other dishes in front of you
and suddenly realizing: This is a dead fish. A dead bird. A
dead pig. Or that this noble vintage is grape juice, and the
purple robes are sheep wool dyed with shellfish blood. Or
making love—something rubbing against your penis, a brief
seizure and a little cloudy liquid.
Perceptions like that—latching onto things and piercing
through them, so we see what they really are. That’s what we
need to do all the time—all through our lives when things lay
claim to our trust—to lay them bare and see how pointless
they are, to strip away the legend that encrusts them.