FMS#376 || Faridabad-NCR || October 2019
A cup of tea, please. Have you brought my ten copies?
Your copies are here. A little ginger in your tea?
Companies do what suits them. What’s all this reading going to do?
Shift ended at two last night. Some left in groups. Some of us stayed back and slept inside the factory. I dreamt. A rhinoceros was chasing me. I turned back; it smiled. It was walking slow as a tortoise.
The rhino must have read the paper!
Don’t know. But yes, it has slowed down. Some brake was in play.
The ten copies I take bring a warm complexion to conversations around me. Minute observations of living find a weave; they leaven. This in itself is a value.
If we withdraw these from our conversation — representation, power games, and lamentation — how do we sound?
That’s just it. To take this question, and to experiment and create new milieus — this in itself is a value.
This value you are speaking of, it shows on the shop floor. In the gaps when irritation from work ebbs a little. When the concentration that work demands eases a little. An effervescence enlarges.
A sparkler!
Sometimes in one. Sometimes among a few. Sometimes in many. Sometimes in all. Sometimes a relay.
What spreads?
What is it?
It is that of which you were speaking just now. When we withdraw representation and fluctuation of power from conversation. When we try to touch that which seems far.
What happens then?
You know it. Interest, selflessness, self-interest, harm, purpose…
…Sermon. Aim. Success. Failure.
Is this conversation about the irrelevance of all these?
Of their having become incompatibles?
Oh! It’s like when you question purpose and aim, you are accused of being powerless and delusional.
So, not as much about being out of joint as this is about moving in parallel.
What you are all discussing is something I have been quite preoccupied with, I should say. It’s something I keep trying to figure out. I do many thought experiments to frame it. Make many models to comprehend it.
So share some, friend.
Like breathing. We draw in. We exhale. You can discuss quality here — the quality of air, the quality of the breath — but not the aim of breathing. To ask about the aim of air and the aim of breath would be bizarre.
That’s an intriguing formulation. It’s simple. It's persistent. Always there. Daily. With everyone. In parallel with everything. Expressed. But accepting this as thought comes with obstacles.
Those moments in which we are joyful and overflowing with laughter, are called distracted, wasted time. And sometimes we repeat this admonishment as if it were our own thought.
Wasted time is a formulation of management. The importance of a regime of time too is a formulation of management. Misers! It is miserly to give such qualities to time. To set time in only two values. And then they spend their days measuring waste and use.
They count breaths. Good breath. Bad breath. Good good breath. Bad bad bad breath.
Ha ha! A calamity has befallen thought!
Why should we get trapped in this measure?
Don’t! Don’t get tied down. The outcome of this stingy measure is fully apparent everywhere today.
True. We all know this. It is the kernel of our everyday critiques of management.
Now is our time to live our parallel lines, with an effervescence, with a liveliness, with a fullness of expression and resonance with each other. Qualities not measurable.
And as always, my tea has turned cold!
fms Nov 2019 by baatein1 on Scribd
