"A psychic, he went on, was like a sponge, a photographic plate with an unconscious that must look like an amusement park." - Umberto Eco in "Foucault's Pendulum"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the below entry was written under the influence of a prior day spent bickering with a friend and in futile attempts to evade a torrential rainstorm that followed us in our pursuit of a pleasant picnic afternoon. The evening post was written while listening to my favorite music, in solitude and tipsy from two glasses of red wine - I was ashamed the following morning when I turned on the tv to hear horror stories of a destructive hurricane - ashamed that my thoughts the prior eve reflected a pleasure in storms, reveling in the force and power, rather than compassion for others' losses - and yet, maybe I was, indeed, "in tune" with Nature that eve. If I have a psychic nature, I wish it were of some more benefit other than aimless words.....