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On Conquering the World
written 11 May 2010 some time after midnight
I can see it as clear as the sunspots on my dirty windshield while headed into dusk. It’s a looming ever-presence and I’m proud to call it my own, the desire for tomorrow. I don’t understand it and I can barely feed it enough today to keep me full on it through the weekend, but it’s there and it’s itchy in my belly like a beer keg full of butterflies with the tap on open.
I want to have lived somewhere that I’m proud to have called my home, to be a part of a community that can grow and have me help in that growth. To know my mailman and my grocer and not just know what my mailman looks like and what’s in stock in my grocer’s freezer.
I want a farm. I want a farmhouse. I want to sell my produce and make cheese and have the people in town tell passersby “Oh, you’ve got to check out the Farm.” I want to watch my lady hustle beers across the bar or show up her yoga students. I want to build a treehouse and some day see it old enough to fall out of that tree.
I want to watch a belly bloom. I want to know what Alaska feels like as an adult. I want to play music on the street with her and a hat in front of us. I want to start a circus and travel Europe on a motorcycle with the people I call my family. I’m finally in a position, with a best friend and lovely lady who can help me make all of that come true. I want Oregon in the morning and New England in the afternoon and I want enough time in between to make a sandwich using nothing but my dirty knife and whatever left over foodstuffs are in the fridge. But most of all, tonight, I want to sleep hard.
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The Fruits Our Labor Doth Yield
It may take months for a painter to finish a masterpiece. A similar amount of time may be invested in creating an album by a musician, or a great novel by a writer. And while the results of the following may vary depending on your particular tastes, tonight I ponder the results of that same amount of time spent by varying types of artists and the lasting endurance each medium brings to the consumer.
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Ahh, to be Young Again
The old man looks back on his life and wishes he could do it all over again, oh the changes he would have made, oh the living he would have done. The young boy looks forward to adulthood, rushing through his youth.
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What if there is no matter, only ideas?
I’ve been perplexing myself over my latest fascination that perhaps the answer to “what is the meaning of life” type mind boggling is simply that there is no “life.” Join me for a few paragraphs while I explain, if you will, but try and read with an open mind, or at least the idea of an open mind.
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What if we are just making up science?
This is not a post in support of religion, nor is it one necessarily denying science.
Early man believed that the sun was a god. Some of the greatest thinkers of all time, from Greek philosophers on through the 1800s, believed that life stemmed from decaying inanimate matter. Even 100 years ago, many doctors, scientists and other folks important enough to have a different prefix than “Mr.” thought you could cure most afflictions by sticking a bunch of leeches on yourself and letting them such the bad blood out. Of course, now we know so very much better and consider such concepts outdated, inane, even insane. Well, except for those people who still believe that an all powerful being lives in the clouds and one day will all
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The Perception of Right and Wrong Through Legality
Are illegal actions specifically illegal because they are wrong, or do things become wrong because we make them illegal, for whatever reason? Certainly there are actions which are universally accepted as wrong — murder, rape, stealing the moon — but nearly everyone in the world will live under laws that they don’t believe in. For the purposes of this short contemplation I’ll use a relatively benign illegality, the partaking of marijuana to alter your state of mind.
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For a Lack of Good Faith
As I’ve been living in and around my hometown of Ebensburg, Pennsylvania for the past few weeks as we take a break from tumbling around the world, there has been much reflection mirroring up and around my brainstem as of late. I suppose the simple reality of being in the place I grew up, meeting old friends and watching as everyone compares themselves up: how did he do, how did you do and how do they relate to one another.
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A boy raised on a farm by good, Christian parents who always meant well, whether or not they always did the right thing or not. In rural America, life is as simple as working hard on the weekends, fishing Saturdays and always making it to Church on time Sunday morning. For most people who grow up in that environment, emulating your parents is a good enough path in life, and asking questions is only a hassle. Why question what works? That’s the only question you need, and it’s rhetorical as all hell.
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