It’s an autumn thing to do, prose.

Daily musings, art of all kinds. Life is art after all...the art of being kind, not reacting, being, in the deepest sense of the word One with all, because, there is only One, after all.

Let’s reconsider assumptions. Let’s ask questions. 

We are all One but we are all unique. Still we have actions. And a need to be respected. If we want to be understood we have to realize people are different and formed by what they experience. 

Some people are not our cup of tea for two. That’s ok. 

But we can talk about ourselves and try to come to some agreements. Or we can go our own ways. 

This is true for all people and all situations. 

Also we can examine our expectations. 

Autumn is perfect for reflection. 

Here’s a bit of prose from 2021. 

It’s an Autumn Thing to Do…

Wonder…where I’ll get the best corduroy jeans.

reminiscing on how good nature looks Before the fall of leaves and the frozen garden turns bluish green

Thinking of the quaking aspen trees shaking their leaves not knowing what they’re saying but love hearing them speak

To me

I know a place where dear Puddha rests, my special feline friend, buried amongst the cat tails

The sky will be blue with his features in the clouds and whiskers too

There will be places, spaces, and faces, of friends offering a tour of their gardens and orchards or vineyards too

It’s an autumn sort of thing to do..

Sherry Stewart  copyright 2021

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                           Corngold mum 

                        The Chewuch River 

             This valley was a huge glacier at one time 

  A pond built by beavers, their home abandoned now for lack of water. 

Below 

         Sun Mountain below 

Words about poetry and prose..

The Dismantling of Wisdom

“The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantling of wisdom.”

–Jacques Lacan

> I prefer poetic prose rather than poetry.

In 150 words of poetic prose draw out what Lacan might be indicating here.

∞ We seek poetry not to uncover answers but to unravel the very foundations of certainty. 

Lacan suggests that within verse lies the power to dissolve the structures of thought that confine us. Wisdom, often held as the pinnacle of human understanding, becomes a cage of familiar truths. 

Poetry, in contrast, is the hand that shakes the bars loose, allowing us to glimpse the chaos and fluidity of existence. 

It is not in poetry’s intent to teach, but to unmake; to pull apart the seams of constructed meaning, offering a momentary freedom in ambiguity. In this dismantling, we are invited to wander, lost and liberated, among fragments that resist coherence. 

Perhaps in this space, Lacan sees the real—beyond the symbolic order, where wisdom ceases to be solid and becomes instead a fleeting echo in the vastness of the unspoken.∞

> Next iteration. In this we leave Lacan out of the picture and we instil more poetry into the prose. The title is "The Dismantling of Wisdom". The voice of the prose is a wanderer, like the elders of India who used to wander alone in the forest after retirement. Or perhaps still do. 150 words.

∞ **The Dismantling of Wisdom**

I walk the forest path, not to find answers, but to watch the world unravel. Wisdom, once a crown upon my brow, grows heavy with its knowing. The trees whisper of a deeper truth, one that slips through the fingers of thought. Here, in the quiet pulse of earth, wisdom crumbles like dried leaves underfoot, turning to dust in the wind. The path ahead offers no revelations, only the soft undoing of certainty. 

What is wisdom but a tether, pulling us toward the same familiar shores? I seek no shores now. I seek the river, the current that sweeps away all solid ground. In this dismantling, I become weightless, unburdened by the need to know. 

I walk not for the destination, but for the way the light shifts between the branches, for the quiet chaos beneath the wisdom we cling to, as it dissolves into silence.