New styles of designer cheese….

On most mornings, I can bring the power of the Metaphorse into play for the opening paragraphs of this missive. Phantasmagoria flow from my mind onto the screen, swirling and shifting into the shapes that will fascinate and entice. Odd connections and teasing concepts flutter around the reader’s head, pushing and pulling toward the edge of what is real. The very face of Reality can assume secondary and tertiary roles in passion plays of great import, and all hope of sanity retreats…..

Then, other mornings, such as this one, even the power of speech eludes me; the power of the Metaphorse is well out of reach. At this point, I’m amazed that I am able to type at all. It’s nothing untoward, I’m sure, just a lack of sugar complicating the start- and warm-up process. I should be fine after the second cup of coffee…. But it sure is inefficient, and nothing drives me crazier than inefficiency. Which is probably why Murphy likes to mess with me so much…. I’m an easy target….

Ah well, I should know by now that no matter how I feel upon arising, the lad will have preceded me and set up some fine, witty way to mess with my head within a few moments. It’s almost comforting…. Since ’tis the way of things, and there is nothing at all to do about it, I’m going to do what I probably should do more, which is try to ignore it. Maybe if I don’t give him so much attention, he’ll find some other bozo to go bother…. but, if not, at least I’ll have found a pearl or two by that time…. and I’ll settle for that….. Shall we Pearl?….

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” — Lazarus Long

This statement has always appealed to me, as it is a fine description of what kind of person I’ve always wanted to be. Everything I see, or perceive, is of interest to me; it’s all grist for the mill. I’ve never understood how boredom can be a problem, for there is always something new to be learned, even in the most mundane circumstances. I’ve always felt that to be bored means that one is tired of what is going on inside one’s own mind. That is not something to which I will admit, and since I believe it to be a matter of choice, I will always choose to learn something, rather than submit to feeling bored….

It doesn’t make any sense to me to limit what we can do, or see, or feel, or perceive, just because it presents a risk. Risk is involved in the act of breathing; life is risk of death, at the core, so there is no point, to me, in trying to avoid whatever life will throw at us, because it will do so no matter how we feel about it. Over that we have no control…. the only control we have is over ourselves.

We can shut our eyes and minds, and try to ignore whatever reality presents; it’s not usually a good idea, but it seems to be the favorite reaction by a lot of folks. Or, we can open our minds, hearts, and emotions, and jump right into what life brings, using it to increase our ability to understand and cope,  gaining the sense of accomplishment, and the pride of achievement that comes with learning something new….

Me?…. I’m no insect, and don’t intend to shut myself off from whatever life has for me to learn…. it’s way more fun than the alternative, for sure and for certain…. and I’m never bored….

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744) — Essay on Man, Epistle i, Line 289
___________________________________    ‘Nuff said…. ‘cept, found on Facebook; my friend Patrick at work again…

In the worlds before monkey, primal chaos reigned.   Heaven sought order, but the Phoenix can fly only when its feathers are grown.  The four lands formed again and yet again, as endless eons wheeled and passed.  The wind, time and water (??) all worked upon a certain rock, old as creation, and it became magically fertile.  That first egg was called ‘thought.’  Tagahata (??) Buddah, the Father Buddah says, ‘with our thoughts, we make the world.’  Elemental forces caused the egg to hatch.  From it came a stone monkey.  The nature of monkey was IRREPRESSIBLE! — Smart Bee

This delightfully cheerful piece of rogue philosophy sounds as if it were written as an entry in a contest to write the silliest, yet most plausible creation myth imaginable. It bears a certain resemblance to certain aboriginal and Eastern religious philosophies, even using a perverted spelling of Buddha to imply, and absorb, some of that philosophy’s carte grise. The last line is particularly apt to me, as well as a nod to modern culture… you could say it’s fabulous, and would be right to say so….

The question marks are not mine; they were included in the quote, so I know not whether they are editor’s notes, or merely hints from the unknown author. All in all, I’d say that, as creation myths go, it is at least as plausible as several of the rather incredulous tales currently held as truth by different sects of different religions around the world…..

“The first egg was called ‘thought'” Exquisite imagery…. as a metaphor for the power of possibility that is the nature of an egg, this is perfect. The power of thought thus creates the world, and monkey is born…. he sits down to type, irrepressible, and Shakespeare was foisted upon the world for all to suffer…. SIGH….

If only the monkeys had, in all that time to type, managed to come up with some Neil Simon, or even Tennessee Williams, then maybe this would be a different world, and nobody would have to pretend they understood what the hell Will was talking about…. Think how many brain cells could have been saved had we not had to sit through endless variations of his themes, like West Side Story, and others of that ilk….. ghastly….

Hmm… interesting stuff. As usual, hard to say where it came from, or where it’s meant to go, but, there it sits, just like a bowl of fruit, waiting for someone to reach in and grab a bite of sweet…. though I doubt the fruit in my bowl quite fits that description. Nonetheless, there it sits, so I can get on with the rest of today, and so can you…. Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you….

Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.