The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

Timon of Athens:

That nature, being sick of man’s unkindness,
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff’d,
Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
The gilded newt and eyeless venom’d worm,
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven
Whereon Hyperion’s quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled mansion all above
Never presented!—O, a root,—dear thanks!—
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;
Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration slips!

This has been the tale of my sickness. Some joy, and much love, and some sadness, and disappointment, and stretching, and always myself, myself, and some of the others I have found along the way.

I am not ready to go just yet — I am tired, but hopefully, with some sleep, I will rise again, and cloth my limbs. My heart is broken, but ready to heal. I am in an old place — and a new place — I am General Lee, returned to Gettysburg.

It is uncomfortable, certainly. But — hmm — what strangeness, that victory, even this small victory, would taste so much like defeat? Pyrrhic, I believe it’s called. Another victory like that, he said, and was remembered forever, and we’re done for.

Well then — easy enough — no more victories like that. Other victories. The victories of the simple life. Of the client. Of service. Of bending down and standing up.

Try to be more. Try to be better, and kinder. We are all in this together. I reach out my hand in the distance — that’s part of me too — the greater path, and the lesser path. Alone. Together. Eye opens. Eye closes. Lost. Found. Time. Spins. Movement folded in on itself. Energy retained. What are we, what strange ghost animates these fingers, and the thought computer in my head?

Who cares. Every question leads to more questions. Is this Real? Yes. It is Real.