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Fall before Fall

A few days ago I fell down a flight of stairs. No broken bones. The time is not now, it seems; the work is not done -- much as its nature is in doubt.

"True speech actually grows from the midst of silence," says Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe. I wonder about that. If we stop speaking, will truth grow like some marvelous tumor and then burst forth as something large and uncontainable?

It is clear that we speak too much, that our Babelian babble covers up more of the truth than it reveals. But sometimes we also recognize truth when we hear it out loud, our speaking almost like a rehearsal of sorts ... until we find ourselves uttering the one statement that rings true above all others.

Small delights: Put zucchini by the side of the road with a sign and a jar yesterday. Earned about $8, which got converted into ice cream, a lovely trade-off on a hot day.

The miniature horses left yesterday. I hope they will have a good new home.

Almost August. Still dry and hot. Must dig deeper for energy and new enthusiasm.
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