Looked out at some phenomena moved fleetingly across my path.
But there’s another type of observation that is inward looking: sharp sensation felt with unease that a stricken organ makes when its pain ripens.
Could further observe the hidden world of my subconscious, where a lurking worry has self dramatized, dared to speak and hosts a precocious drama.
A great book I used to have, I would leave it spread across the kitchen table, it had the leather bound heft that I could hardly raise, to open it out and touch with respect.
It had knowledge on every topic pressed together with gravitas, compendium of all observation it seemed by all humanity, that was tried tested and endorsed, then had been tested again falsified and updated in subsequent editions.
How to balance these ways of gaining knowledge?
The personal so strident in my face. The quieter trusted word of others. And my own reasoning.
Just now I thought I knew something particular from all this at the end of day but the soil where I had staked it started breaking up already.