May we skate on the thick ice as long as we stay away from the thin? And how do you stay away from the thin, a brother asked as we slid across the ice.
The world divides in two: Those who think the sign warns that all the ice is thin, and those who think the sign reminds us to stay off the thin ice, but allows for skating on the thick.
I was watching a video
on David Foster Wallace last night. He spoke about what we lose when we allow ourselves to gratify any and all of our desires, often times instantaneously Where do the chunks of quiet go we once had in our days?
“We don’t want things to be quiet anymore,” he said. “The part of you that can think for thirty minutes of silence never gets fed.” When did living start feeling so thin?
I asked Hewhoflies about silence and living thick or thin. He told me about a month spent in Ireland a few years ago. The only time he and his wife spoke on their drive along the Irish coastline was when they reached a small village overlooking the sea. To their right, a police station. In the window, a sign: For Rent.
They shared a hearty laugh.
They drove on. Now they are back in the States and he entertains the notion of renting that active police station. For what, for why? To see if he can.