The sky is cloudy and overcast, a fair wind blows making the branches dance and the windsock lively.

I’m finding myself more and more identifying with the title character of a book called The Idiot. This isn’t at all as negative as it sounds as he’s a rather fetching character in his own way. But, I guess that’s the point of it all, it’s his own way.

What’s curious is that each interaction I see in him I’ve seen in me. I’ve written letters with the same attitude, I’ve believed in people differently than they believe in themselves, all throughout I’ve shared the reactions as this character though in a decidedly different context.

I suppose this is comforting in a way, as finding oneself so thoroughly a “character” means there is something universal about oneself. That being said, I haven’t gotten to the end of the book, and the cover painting does not bode well.

Different context, to be sure. Though I kinda wish I felt free enough to post some of the quotes that particularly hit home.

Not all oneself is for public consumption I guess. Though, I guess anyone interested could just go ahead and read the book to discover how I perceive myself. Fortunately, for my continuing enigmatic status, it’s a long book that most won’t want to wade through… though curiously this also defines how most folks have reacted to me over the last few years as well. Likely because while in the midst of a story, one doesn’t have quite enough perspective to see it all for what it is and should just keep quiet at some points.

Oddly enough, I don’t think I keep quiet enough. That is something the desert fathers are still teaching me.