On Reading

When I was 8, I had cried while watching the father

dying scene in The Lion King, so while bringing Liz to ballet class and

in a convenience store I saw the paperback book The Lion King, one

of the novel ones that is produced with the film images on the cover,

and asked my dad to buy it for me. He said he would if I would read it,

I said I would, but when I got home, maybe partly to do with the promise,

I didn’t want to read it, and I never did, I told my mom and she said it

was okay. Reading is to the purpose of learning and understanding

what the pages contain, but I am always thinking about what I should be

reading or doing. In part I think reading is a bittersweet activity, the

reader believes they are benefitting. I am not saying a reader cannot be

benefitting, but there is something tricky the writer has done in placing

the text to be read. Life can be viewed in this manner as well. Our thoughts

and capacity for experience is the writing of our creator and we believe

ownership is ours; however, we are sorely mistaken, it is a fantasy, for the

creator too, we do not really exist, nothing does.

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