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[Jorge]

Something that struck me this morning. I can't write worth a damn but .....


I find you on the store shelf, I don't know you but I know your author, and I don't like him. Patiently however, like any good scholar, I set aside my need to to rip you in half and tare out your pages. I set aside some of my immediate ammunition, I forget the things I know and invite you into my camp to talk things over. Maybe you are not the treacherous louse I took you to be. I disagree with you, I spit in your face but still - patiently so as to see the full measure of your folly - I give you some of my men, to build with and plan. Before I know it my men are yours and they take up your cause, a resounding chorus in my brain cries for my impeachment. I turn to see my ammunition was stolen, my men have deserted me, you stand their laughing and I reach for my sword. You do nothing but speak, "What sort of man would bring weapons to this peaceful discussion?"

I should have never let you into my camp, offered my men or forgotten what I knew to be true - but then, what sort of man would that make me?





Okay so it struck me today just how much of learning requires a kind of forgetting, of putting our weapons away when we meet a new author and just how fricking weird that experience is when I think about it.