Just saw Guardians of the Galaxy, and noticed that the lead is curiously like a counselor in our Bishopric. Uncannily. Interestingly.
Caught an old music video of Rihanna's, and wondered what odd combination of genes made my wife seem so much like her.
Watched a music video that Taylor Swift danced in, and recognized natural dance movements intrinsic to my daughter.
Glanced at a Facebook Family Picture of a Facebook Family unknown, and saw my eight-year-old son, in denims.
Talked to an old friend, who showed me a fuzzy photo of a guy on a plane that looked like me. I concurred, even though nothing specific could be seen in the blurry picture. It just looked like me--in the arms, the posture, the eyes, the profile.
There is little mystery in this, the uncanny: after all, snowflakes are surely individual, but "individual" once meant collective, and the combination of wind, temperature, and moisture is both bound and environmentally exact, like a sonnet of sorts. But even without much mystery there is hope, I think, in the raw materials. How many are there? Who made the lamb and the tiger?
I see what I know, and what I don't know I can't see but only perceive in the absence of the things I know. I sense the raw materials, though, in the things I see, and I love when I can identify them as shared. The lamb bumbles and the tiger stalks.
Caught an old music video of Rihanna's, and wondered what odd combination of genes made my wife seem so much like her.
Watched a music video that Taylor Swift danced in, and recognized natural dance movements intrinsic to my daughter.
Glanced at a Facebook Family Picture of a Facebook Family unknown, and saw my eight-year-old son, in denims.
Talked to an old friend, who showed me a fuzzy photo of a guy on a plane that looked like me. I concurred, even though nothing specific could be seen in the blurry picture. It just looked like me--in the arms, the posture, the eyes, the profile.
There is little mystery in this, the uncanny: after all, snowflakes are surely individual, but "individual" once meant collective, and the combination of wind, temperature, and moisture is both bound and environmentally exact, like a sonnet of sorts. But even without much mystery there is hope, I think, in the raw materials. How many are there? Who made the lamb and the tiger?
I see what I know, and what I don't know I can't see but only perceive in the absence of the things I know. I sense the raw materials, though, in the things I see, and I love when I can identify them as shared. The lamb bumbles and the tiger stalks.
Nice post / poem. I'm not familiar with the bumbling of lambs. I will go look that up now.
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