The empty cavity the wind leaves as it passes by me, gently in its most intrusive way with its every coming and going mocking my existence; from its perspective -probably- the human just static there on the ground. I can’t help but ponder on whether memories, as with thoughts in the brain, are carried in some way by the wind’s particular grasp. The hold the wind exerts on so much which may carry memory like pollen, the memory of its predecessor in its genetic code being transferred via this highway of unwavering strength, power, and reach… The scent picked up by a flower like a rose, or jasmine, perhaps a gardenia just being pushed about, or on a cradle created by nature in the wind for the flower’s scent to reach corners where scents hardly have a place. Perhaps the middle of the ocean, which begs the question would these smells in some way impact their surroundings in a meaningful way?
There is a parody about, it’s called life. In this parody we are just players in an endless play where the acts are all the same as the days pass and the play repeats for perpetuity; few changes if any necessary from script to script as the years ensue. In one act there is turmoil and chaos. On another, rejoice, the vanishing of lament, and the indecisiveness of decisions and their making. On the other there is merit and demerit pit against one another in a race to see which one best fits a situation. Another act depicts without clariity, reason, or the consent for its players the muse that brings about chaos in the world, the it that makes killers kill, or rapist rape. There is however one act where love reigns and all other qualities, inequalities, reason, judgement, and the us within us just disappears. In this act, the observer sees different things. For some, love is played by an orange cat with white stripes, and it is the life and moment of every passed memory and the light of every great thing that was, is, and could be. For others it is played by a child, the wonder and amazement of the beauty that is innocence in its bare and raw form. For a few love is the cradle of life in its simplest of ways, the knowledge that what we know today while essential for the truth discovered tomorrow, merely a vessel and not really what is experienced. The last act, despite popular demand, is not death, but the continuation and repetition of things in a metamorphosis of ideals, thoughts, people, and the demand that each imposes on the other as the play continues. There is no one time when the curtain draws to its conclusion and more than a few are not pleased with the events that transpired, cannot quite clearly get their heads around the idea that was being portrayed, or were simply baffled by an outcome so simple that is breaks the basis of understanding into its purest and most simple of forms and thus is rejected on merit.
We are not players in the tale of existence, we are merely observers with a season pass to the events, but with little if any choice on what the outcome of the whole is. We may be able to control the left and right choices we make driving a car, or what milk we drink,, perhaps which restaurant we chose to dine in, but in the stage of life, the ultimate outcome is while impacted by these individual choices, yet somehow untainted by the whole of it as the world continues to whirl at incredible speeds despiste the numbers of humans in it or what they are or not afflicted with. The bias we exert on the thing(s) we have in front of us is neither here nor there when the matter is juxtaposed by the billions of others occurring in that same instant; rather than one moment after another it is all moments simultaneously. That is to say that the visible world we chose to reside in is complex, vast, inexorably complex, and yet lacks dimensions at a level beyond even my own understanding. Yet, the simplest of things, to this visible world, the things we chose to ignore like lipids or proteins, amino acids, and other building blocks, atoms, and other criteria which when considered together affect a visible situation just as much as that of the people driving badly in front of us or yelling at each other across the yard on the other side of the building or neighborhood. The quarks and other things that continue to act, interact, reflect, and more underneath the visible world we chose to unburden ourselves from when in need or saddened by a circumstance.
I am not the essence of the things that make me, or the outcome of how they have interacted for a heartbeat, a lot of these things happen without my control, I am that which I have chosen to be through my every action and thought, pondering and desire, loss and gain. I am an outcome one way or another. It was not enough to be the outcome of copulation as a living being is, or to be the outcome of life having lived when finally a corpse, but the right now, the present we so eloquently ignore and wish was something else or more. Perhaps, like the wind, we should explore other things not because they have meaning to us or because they will affect the bottom line and ultimate outcome, but because they are simply on the way and by being there must have purpose; even if the purpose is ultimately moot where the whole is concerned.
It seems, to a very detrimental analysis, that life as it stands is the mere collection of data gathered by the gatherer. That is to express, the doctor will see ailment and the product of exposure, the archeologist will see the possibility of discovery and the unearthing of something exciting and full of history, and others will see things that are according to their prospective caste/place in life. Is that wrong? Shouldn’t a flower be a flower to everyone and not its parts to a xenobiologist pondering on the possibilities of creation beyond its current state? There should not be anything wrong with analysis of any kind or type, but the line must be drawn somewhere and it is apparent that no lines are being drawn. Knowledge that the unknown may be dangerous is not enough to topple the knowledge that where we have thought to found purity in science through the discovery or the atom, millions have both endured the pain of the discovery through loss of life, family, and more as well as the future it brought when nuclear power began to effectively provide much needed energy.
Every step forward in the advancement of something has provided insight into matters unknown which in turn have made us better humans. Yet, through discovery there is no evil that is good, no good that is evil, and no side which is ever right, there just is that which is/was discovered, its use(s) and ultimately the choice of those whom in need, greed, or hope want something that in itself becomes good or bad. Which am I and how do I know if the choices and decisions I make today ultimately impact the good or bad or a thing, or that the outcome of that will not be the opposite, and so on? The future is as uncertain today as it was yesterday and a decade ago, we just seem to have found more to be uncertain about without regarding the findings of the past with enough power to find all there was before moving forward. Greed, among other things, has driven us to the valley of the unknown where it is not the future that is uncertain, but the present.
What is my purpose? Why is my purpose what it is? How do I achieve my purpose? What if the purpose of my existence is just exiting?
