Currently I'm reading Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It's one of those philosophical classics I've always had on my list to read and of which I never got around to cracking the cover.
There were parts of this book where the waters turned deeper and darker, and I knew there was more than met the eye at first glance. So, there were some of these paragraphs that I had to return to and pick apart to let the meaning sink in.
I was fine until I reached the part about the narrator having had a previous personality, which was somehow removed and replaced with his current one in the book. I assume that this change was meant figuratively, but so far a better understanding of this has not been revealed.
Anyway, please read more about this book here. Because, let's face it. It's 11:30 at night, and I'm unable to form coherent sentences, while trying to capture an entry before I miss making my official weekly commitment to the Sunday Salon. And, as of now, at page 96 and just getting down a superficial understanding of this book, I'm not qualified to write much more, and even if I could, I'm not so sure I could explain it. It's kind of like one of those "you had to be there" moments. You have to be there reading it to really get the gist of it.
Am I making any sense? Well, right now I feel pretty much like the book makes me feel, like I'm running in circles through my thoughts.
P.S. A Google search on Robert Pirsig produced many results. My favorite was this insightful essay, Cruising Blues and Their Cure.
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