processing

Loss eventually arrives when something departs. Grief is working through both.

Learning, without any opportunities to share what we've learned, is a little like cooking for ourselves; we do it, but we probably won't do it as well.

I'll make a book on learning how to be a complete moron someday, and I'm sure no one will buy it, because everyone will have mastered that already by the time I gather enough moronism to process it into digestible upgrade instructions for your average village cyborg-idiot.

The mind thinks upon, processes, and remembers what the senses forget.

We can never know more than the mind can assimilate and process, nor can we discuss any aspect of the world for which there is no language.

The process of acceptance is to train your mind to focus on what you have.

Some people just need to read and think, to spend time alone sorting through the stories in their heads

I'll catch any rose in my vase-shaped heart, then process it through my vascular system, until there's nothing left.

I find talking difficult as my brain goes much faster than I can say the words. So most of the time my sentences are all jumbled up. That's why I have a collection of phrases I've stored and mostly just use those instead.

The brain, he writes, is like Kublai Khan, the great Mongol emperor of the thirteenth century. It sits enthroned in its skull, "encased in darkness and silence," at a lofty remove from brute reality. Messengers stream in from every corner of the sensory kingdom, bringing word of distant sights, sounds, and smells. Their reports arrive at different rates, often long out of date, yet the details are all stitched together into a seamless chronology. The difference is that Kublai Khan was piecing together the past. The brain is describing the present__rocessing reams of disjointed data on the fly, editing everything down to an instantaneous now. How does it manage it?

I have found awareness to be one of the most rewarding, and yet one of the most painful journeys one can embark on.