realism

my own humanity —
it’s a fact, plain and simple
— how can this given
accomplishment I’m born with
be yet so hard to attain?

In my dream, my older sister had turned into a little girl about four years old. I was charmed and delighted, but also concerned about how to reverse the spell and get her back to being an adult. I’ve got hold of a truth, I think, that the little girl represents the most human side of me. I wanted to express the paradox whereby the supreme and ultimate goal of life (for me) is to become more human — while after all I simply am human anyway. So I’m striving after a goal which is right there under my nose. Yet it refuses to give up its unattainable and mysterious and just plain difficult character.

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