Hungry Ghost's Daily Diet (TM)

More dreams, and this time, less terrifying, less guilt-inducing, and more thought-provoking.

Just what have I become? This is the central question. I have an answer but I shall keep this a secret for now. Suffice to say that I've changed and have adopted a new philosophy in life. For this I have Dr. T and Dr. C to thank.

Dr. T said to Dr. C and me, "Please! Go ahead and choose the seats, I'm sure you have excellent taste in the choice of seats, Dr. C!"

So Dr. C did, and we sat for but a moment before Dr. T suggested we move because the distance from the screen to the seat distressed him. As we stood, he once again said to Dr. C, "Please! Choose the seats, I insist!".

Dr. C smiled and looked at me with a half-smile playing about her lips as if to say, "Watch! And learn!"

I watched and learnt the lesson of a lifetime, for Dr. C said sweetly to Dr. T, "No, I insist you choose the seats, for then you'll be happy and I only want you to be happy", and before Dr. T could argue, Dr. C continued with a slight edge to her voice, "and when you're happy Dr. T, I am happy."

End of argument. Dr. T chose the seats and there was no more discussion of moving around.

Thus was my new philosophy in life chosen. I am happy when you're happy - simple and precise.

The Enchantress of Florence is divine and sets my mind awhirl. The imagery and confabulation of myth and fable mixed in with history is extraordinary. The author, Salman Rushdie, has outdone himself. It's gorgeous writing. There are perhaps two or three other books, completely different in subject matter and style, which did the same thing to my mind: The English Patient, and The History of the World in 10-1/2 Chapters.

In The Enchantress of Florence, much is made of humans being the same, and of our shared foolishness. It also balances the exigences of time, life, death and love and shows how your choices in these matters can be the ruin of Empires and the fall of Emperors, the rise of Whores, the weakening of mighty warrior-mercenaries and the purity, but also the banality, of love.

It is wonderful. It make me want to forgive. Whether or not I can quite bring myself to do this, however, is another tale in itself. Then again, if you're happy, I'm happy.

The time is now 2 am, and I'm well and away on a flight of fancy that is not without sadness. How, why and what I can't exactly say. I suspect it is merely fatigue that dulls my senses, and I mistake this for sorrow but it doesn't matter - not really. In all matters of men (and mice) there is an ebb and flow, a beginning and end, and an eventual demise wherein we join those who are no more than motes of dust in the light. For every beginning there is an end, and likewise, an end for every beginning. In time these will become one arc, one circle that is joint at the last end and the first beginning. Such is the way of the world, and thus will it ever be.