I can imagine interviewing each visitor to this blog. I would ask for narrative snapshot of their lives…where they were born, where they grew up, what they remember most vividly about their early lives, their parents’ political views, their religious philosophy, their favorite colors, and what about their spouse/partner/aloneness is especially appealing. An interview might take less than an hour or several days, depending on what I learn about them. My guess is that I would like to meet at an independent coffee shop for the second round of questions and conversation. Later, we would have a glass of wine at a little alfresco café; wouldn’t you know it. we’re in Paris! Because the popular tourist attractions are swarming with people almost around the clock, we would explore neighborhoods and follow people out of their houses to wherever they want or need to go. I would get quite a lot out of you during our interviews. I might find you had been a pickpocket when you were a little boy. Or that you left the scene of a hit-and-run accident the day after you got your driver’s license. Or that your mother won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2029. Or that you want to talk to me about what’s on your mind. Even more.
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A couple of days ago, I mentioned in passing an interesting article I had read. The author, Maria Popova, wrote some words that resonate with me. She said, “we…simply cannot fathom how something as exquisite as the universe of thought and feeling inside us can vanish into nothingness.” In an earlier issue of the same blog publication, the quoted Goethe: “It is quite impossible for a thinking being to imagine nonbeing, a cessation of thought and life…in this sense, everyone carries the proof of his own immortality within himself.” This concept—the inability to imagine “non-being”—has come up with some regularity in the minister’s sermons/musings. Perhaps the fact our bodies eventually feed into the matter of the universe cements the point that we (humans, animals, etc.) are never “gone,” but are simply moving along the spectrum of celestial composting. Yet I think the point is not necessarily the cessation of our physical being’s functions; it is the inability to imagine the sudden and eternal disappearance one’s of consciousness. That’s what confounds us. Intellectually, most people probably do understand the end of consciousness; emotionally/mentally, though, probably not. No matter how hard we try. No matter how intense is our commitment to believing in the end of consciousness. If we were to imagine the end of consciousness, our consciousness would provide the assumed understanding, which negates the very idea of the absence of consciousness. A riddle. A conundrum. A dilemma. An impossible certainty.
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I could eat my weight in fried green tomatoes…dipped in spiced cornmeal and cooked in almost-smoking-hot bacon grease. That’s the way I had them as a child. Before we knew how bad bacon grease is for humans. I do not accept the idea that we should completely stop using foods that are “bad” for us. But I do accept that we (that is, everyone) should completely avoid all tobacco products. I suspect my psyche is chock-full of such conflicting philosophical foundations; absolutes and certainties surrounded by exceptions. I do not consume bacon grease the way I did when I was young; but I will willingly expose myself to the risk associated with occasionally eating a LOT of fried green tomatoes cooked in bacon grease. Everything in moderation. Except, of course, for the things specifically designed and intended for over-indulgence.
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Some perceptive blog readers may have noticed that this is my second post of the day. It replaces the non-post (i.e., the virtually empty post whose value even as a space holder is essentially zero). Well, I had to go to the grocery store, where I bought frozen broccoli, Velveeta cheese, and mushroom soup. After that kind of experience, I just naturally felt the urge to have a third espresso and write the story of a fleeting moment or two.
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A person vows to go the gym to remake his body. He sees a physical image of his body as he thinks about his reformation. Does the person who goes to a psychologist/therapist create an image of his mind…in his head…of who he wants to be? I suspect the person who desires or needs therapy wants only for the emotional pain to be extracted or expunged. Although I can imagine seeking help to replace one’s personality or otherwise radically change the persona—an introvert wanting to be an extrovert or a redneck wanting to be an Ivy League intellectual. These ideas bounce around in my head from time to time. I could just ask people to share their thoughts, but I tend to think of these things only when I am alone with my keyboard…and I have a bad habit of failing to write them down because “I’ll make a point of remembering them later, so I won’t need to write them down.”
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Large numbers of chicken pot pies should be kept in the freezer all winter long. If you have a freezer full of chicken pot pies, there is no question whether you will last the winter—chicken pot pies are all the certainty you need. Frankly, though, I could do without the chunks of chicken. I would be perfectly happy with more carrots or peas or whatever.
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The time is approaching 10 a.m. This is not right! I should not be sitting at the keyboard at this hour.
