Tuesday, August 30, 2011
again i ramble
so many ways to connect with everything, everyone that we have completely lost the way to connect with ourselves. this morning's little brain train.
maybe it's time to return to the field, find a tree, sit down under its sprawling cool green and just be. time to face we do not know as much as we think we do? facebook won't make us more interesting. religion won't make us more good. money won't make us reach or rich. parenting might just snuff out the child's real fire (this one's the biggie for me when i so wish i had my own tree or hammock by the water and about three thousand years to figure a way out of the mess of "knowledge.")
there are human things about us that are precious, especially given the fact that all humans are finite. the supply side ain't endless. the one i love, the one i adore, the one i hate, they will all end. as will i. can this thought, and actually having a chat with it somewhere not supremely connected give us pause, a meander through the unknown, a delve into something new that's actually timeless, a discovery or rather a rediscovery of the path back to ourselves?
news flash from 33 years ago: remember wordsworth's "ode to intimitations of immortality"?
beautiful poem, while i may not experience the sense of the eternal exactly as w did, nor be too certain about souls and stuff, the idea that we are born with knowledge and gradually proceed to lose it, "our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting," that seems to be on the mark. ok it's not exactly what the poet meant perhaps, but that's how i interpret it in my time and reality.
this little away time with the self is getting very necessary for me.
after that comes the brain train, then the itch to taptap, then the reach out for the ultimate friend of the rambler, the iphone sitting on the table by my bed.
(ah the bed the bed the bed, could it be my tree? no wonder, my mother had such faith in it, never left it if she didn't have to. ask anyone, they'll tell ya she was truly wise.)
steve jobs has his tree. his machines show it. mr gates doesn't, his machines prove that.
if reading my words makes you even think of the need for yours, there would be some point to my useless prattle.
maybe it's time to return to the field, find a tree, sit down under its sprawling cool green and just be. time to face we do not know as much as we think we do? facebook won't make us more interesting. religion won't make us more good. money won't make us reach or rich. parenting might just snuff out the child's real fire (this one's the biggie for me when i so wish i had my own tree or hammock by the water and about three thousand years to figure a way out of the mess of "knowledge.")
there are human things about us that are precious, especially given the fact that all humans are finite. the supply side ain't endless. the one i love, the one i adore, the one i hate, they will all end. as will i. can this thought, and actually having a chat with it somewhere not supremely connected give us pause, a meander through the unknown, a delve into something new that's actually timeless, a discovery or rather a rediscovery of the path back to ourselves?
news flash from 33 years ago: remember wordsworth's "ode to intimitations of immortality"?
beautiful poem, while i may not experience the sense of the eternal exactly as w did, nor be too certain about souls and stuff, the idea that we are born with knowledge and gradually proceed to lose it, "our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting," that seems to be on the mark. ok it's not exactly what the poet meant perhaps, but that's how i interpret it in my time and reality.
this little away time with the self is getting very necessary for me.
after that comes the brain train, then the itch to taptap, then the reach out for the ultimate friend of the rambler, the iphone sitting on the table by my bed.
(ah the bed the bed the bed, could it be my tree? no wonder, my mother had such faith in it, never left it if she didn't have to. ask anyone, they'll tell ya she was truly wise.)
steve jobs has his tree. his machines show it. mr gates doesn't, his machines prove that.
if reading my words makes you even think of the need for yours, there would be some point to my useless prattle.
