The following was written in real time on Twitter.
The sculptor Auguste Rodin left masses of rough, untouched stone intact on his finely carved sculptures -- to remind us where it came from.
The sculptor Auguste Rodin left masses of rough, untouched stone intact on his finely carved sculptures -- to remind us where it came from.
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We can meet on the mountain -- the greater substance from which our lives spring -- and compare what we made from it.
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We are each given a stone from the same mountain. We each chisel something different. We sometimes mistake our sculptures for the mountain.
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Stories within stories. Facts bending like wheat in the winds of imagination. Consciousness was here first.
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God is about unity. That's all he was ever for. He is just as real as any of your imaginings.
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When the rain comes down, it touches the whole town. That is the story we all inhabit, and it belongs to a being greater than ourselves.
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Those who allow others to have their stories, differ though they might, are brave.
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When we demand that others think the way we do, it is like trying to force others into our homes with us.
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When we violently disagree with each other's stories, our violence is derived from the terror of being alone in our private stories.
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Some of our stories are similar. When we recognize that, we cling to each other, craving familiarity and the end of loneliness.
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A life can go through many stages, each beginning and ending with a spectacular coup against the ego, taking place where cameras cannot go.
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To change your mind is a great adventure. You will struggle, bleed, fail and try again. To change your mind is to die and be reborn.
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When our stories fail us, we grieve. When we, in such uncommon cases, expatriate to new stories, we suffer.
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There is nothing wrong with stories, just as there is nothing wrong with a rose in a windstorm. We choose destruction over loss of identity.
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We may discuss alternate stories with civil tongues, but when the shit hits the fan, we revert to our fondest stories, facts be damned.
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Our stories are more important to us than mere facts. We readily bend or replace facts that do not serve our stories. All of us do this.
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Our veins are filled with stories. We breathe and eat stories. When someone threatens to supplant our stories with new stories, we resist.