A sharply-dressed, smart looking and unsettlingly focused corporate man passes
me* and I think: if I had his drive and discipline,
I’d be going places. If he had my philosophy, he'd be going places wisely. Then I notice an
elderly down-and-out whom I’ve seen
around town for a couple of months now. His face has never shown anything else
than external peace and inner understanding and I
think: if both the corporate man and I had the old guy’s peace and
understanding, we’d not only be going places wisely, but we’d also be going places
serenely. At that moment a beautiful young woman crosses my path
and I (or perhaps even all three of us) can’t help but think: if only we could have,
what she has…
*in St David’s Centre. After, justifiably, branding it as obnoxiously
false-godly, I feel really embarassed ever to go there, or admit it. When I do, I sneak from
behind one pile of redundant goods to behind# another, in case anyone I know is visiting this den
of rampantly pagan consumerism at the same time.
#English good?
#English good?
