Sorting

Or unsorting. That's my secret to life. I spend so much time making distinctions that separate and divide, sweep and join. That seemed to be the way to survive. There's safety or at least comfort in knowing which categories I belong to and which I don't. Unsorting is of the principles implicit in compassion. When I unsort, observe each a-tom, I put my mind to what is in front of me. That's the theory. Then I can see the thing true.

That's what I'm doing. I'm on an unsorting and untangling jag. Find the misidentified and atrophied idea, notion, history, or feeling. Remove the name tag and let it be itself. Sometimes things are badly named, badly woven together. More radical action is necessary. Unraveling isn't bad if I find something that needs to unravel. But first, I start with the sort. Move to the untangle. Then I pull at the loose thread at some risk.

No wonder we fault toward keeping thing sorted along our ideosyncratic lines.