My mind is a refrigerator full of stuff.
The tomatoes in the back ought to be thrown out.
But I don’t remember they are there.
If I can’t see it, it does not exist.
That line stumps me. Stops me. I don’t believe that.
But it’s true of the fridge.
Wouldn’t it be good if what I can’t see does not exist if it’s not good for me?
What if I can’t see good things that exist?
Do they then not exist?
The fridge is a mix of so much stuff:
Good for you.
More good for you.
Unless its rotten.
But I don’t necessarily like those good for you things.
Vegies are fine if someone puts them in front of my face.
I have to work at noticing them otherwise.
In the fridge, where are the healing, super healing, balancing, clarity giving things?
In the fridge, where’s the fun?
I’m wondering if cleaning my fridge would be inspiring today.