by Chet Raymo
What she took as condescension or disinterest was actually bemused detachment.
The more passionately the friends debated politics, religion, human relationships, the meaning of it all, the more they became attached to fragments of the whole. The more they saw clarity, the more they missed nuance. The more they corralled truth into mutually exclusive categories, the more the oneness of things escaped their grasp.
I didn't sufficiently appreciate this thought when I was a young man. Perhaps I still don't. The fact that I am writing these posts is an offense against silence, but hopefully they embrace a certain ironic tenderness.”