Sugartown at Dawn

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Gracian and the Shadows of Heaven

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Baltasar Gracian, the 17th century Jesuit, wrote a manual of practical philosophy called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom," which was highly regarded by Schopenhauer. In aphorism 205 (in the Christopher Maurer translation), Gracian writes on the benefits of scorn: One way to get things is to scorn them. When you look for them, they aren't there, and later, without your trying, they come running. Earthly things are the shadows of heavenly ones, and they behave like shadows; they flee when you pursue them and chase you when you flee them. He goes on to speak of scorn as a weapon, and to advise people to ignore their critics -- but this seems a serious change in tone. He refers to scorn as "the shrewdest way to seek revenge." At first he writes of a way to achieve your goals through a kind of unconscious state of retirement -- like Mozart playing billiards to take his mind off music, which often resulted in intense flashes of inspiration. But Gracian goes from achieving ...
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Cafe

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Tomorrow, perhaps, I start my new job, and I can't focus on reading, thinking I don't have appropriate shoes.  Hiking boots were fine for substitute teaching. I keep putting my book down and looking at shoes online, only I have no money and can't afford any of them. The only appropriate pair I own is too narrow, and begin to hurt my feet within a few hours. I have to continually adjust the laces to make them bearable. If I wear them for too long, it becomes all I think about. The boots I'm wearing now I bought over a decade ago. They fit like socks. They weren't expensive. I somehow stumbled on something affordable and perfect. I'll finish my coffee then go for a walk in the woods. The slush of yesterday has frozen over and I'll need microspikes. Still, it's warmer out and the walk will be comfortable. Perhaps I'll visit the cranberry bog and look for a bald eagle I saw there once, but never again.
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Cafe

I sit near the milk stand. I drink my coffee black and notice how long some people take there, carefully adding the right amount of sugar, slowly tearing the packets. Even if there's a line behind them, they remain deliberate and unhurried. Some seem oblivious to me, only a few feet away. There is a man now, talking to himself, commenting on the number of packets, muttering complaints about the the milk pitcher is backwards. I'm not sure how a round object might be considered backwards. And doesn't the spout point in the right direction once you grab the pitcher by its handle? Still, he's very upset. I quickly glance at him. He is wearing a bitter frown.
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