it's another sunny morning. I've been plugging through chatwin's australia. He's been holed up in Cullen for a week or so and is reviewing his moleskines written during his travels. I've been reading his thoughts and excerpts about aggression, travel, the hero path, war, walking. I know what is happening. What the days go like. Reviewing, thinking, writing. A stranger in a strange land. Similar, yet different enough to move the writer from the habitual point of view.
that's the good thing about traveling. and you don't even have to go to another country to get a shift like that.
I was in japantown yesterday. I walked around the small shops. Everything so particular, specific. The stationary shop, a shop with lots of metal tea pots. There was a feeling of time - I didn't feel the rush that I had in the mission (hustling). There was not a lot of space, but the space was used appropriately.
Cultures are different views of the world. I suppose that's no surprise or revelation, but it's a nice thing to think about and experience. It makes me reflect upon my personal culture, and gives me the choice to decide which parts I like and include myself. The work hard, play hard of Brazil, the heat. I want to cultivate the spaciousness of time. Time is a commodity in the US. But there are places where time doesn't really matter.
Ah, I've waxed somewhat philosophical now. I don't really want to go there this early. I'll write my other post, and then close up and finish the songlines.
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