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My fourth grade teacher Mr. Hannington once told me and the rest of his class as we were learning all the capitals of the world not to worry about being unable to later remember what you’ve learned here. Somewhere deep down it will always stay with you.
At this moment I couldn’t tell you the capital of Bhutan.
But I still believe deep down I do know it. I later read that this expansion through introduction applies to new ideas adding scope to your own inner-blackboard to conceive or understand. And again, it will never be in danger of shrinking to its former dimensions.
When I do remember lessons like this everything hums peacefully with possibility. I hear the Ohm and it promises: You will understand yourself and others more, you will appreciate the world around you more, and you will be wholly satisfied with “whatever the waitress may bring you†because of a vague recollection that you ordered it long before, when you first walked in, and it’s what you knew you’d really want.
My dream was terrible. My dream was sad. But my dream had beautiful, shining moments of clarity in which I breathed in everything to the near moment of bursting. And I laughed and cried and knew it was alright. My dream, this dream, was exactly what I wanted.
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