I have stumbled, mumbling, from some dark cave, slumber tumbling off my eyelids as I wake more fully than ever I have, embracing an awareness that attacks the new, bright world, demanding to know. Momentum is found in asking what and where and when and how, questions that human talents excel in answering, piling up great mountains of facts in stacks, indexed and categorized and synthesized. Never ask why, however. The question of why is an invitation to the cold, still void. The question of why will stop you in your tracks, tear down all your stacks, ravage all your facts. The question of why will bury you in the ruble of everything you used to know, set your mind to sleep in the deep dark cave of the ruins of your world. This is the way it's always been. No one knows why.
Meanwhile, across the country, a perfect Cuban sandwich was just plopped on the counter of a cafe, the bell rung to summon the waitress who will deliver it to your table. The pork is amazing, hot and juicy. The cheese is salty and melty. The pickle is sharp and crisp. The bread is wonderfully grilled and pressed. The mustard is grainy and tangy. The waitress is friendly and cute, sliding the plate from the counter and heading your way. This is your Cuban sandwich. It will be here soon.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
