Open Sesame

Even someone who likes to hear himself talk as much as I do gets tired of listening to himself occasionally.

But, of course, the chatter in the mind goes on; thoughts keep percolating up, all of them attached to words, and for some reason connected to my sense of self and what I consider necessary to understand the world, I’m compelled to put some of that mind-stuff down in text.

Does it make any difference to the world? Certainly not. And ought my time not better be spent by making contributions to Japan earthquake relief or to writing impassioned screeds about the latest war my country has gotten itself into? Naturally.

But here I am, puzzling publicly about my puzzlement; wondering aloud about the my wonderment, making excuses on behalf of my sorry excuse for an externalized internal monologue.

I once went 327 days in a row writing and publishing a 327-word essay, half-imagining that doing so would somehow catapult me into internet stardom. But all that happened is that I got sort of addicted to the habit such that I don’t entirely feel like myself—whoever that is—unless I do so.

In the literature of Vedanta I’ve been reading, there’s lots of talk about how the mind falls into grooves and how yoga, meditation, and other such practices are means to assist us in climbing out of those grooves.

The problem, typically, is that the grooves feel so groovy; it’s nice to snuggle down into the familiar; quite frankly, I’m disinclined to change when change is difficult and the status quo so nice and easy.

Thus, here I am again, returning to the 327 word form, writing and posting an essay that’s little more than naval gazing turned inside-out.

Does this mean that 327 Words is back?

Well, sorta. In April, when spring quarter starts, I’m back at Sabblogtical, with a focus on doing Philosophy for Children.

For right now, though, this is groovy enough.