January 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
My upbringing delved into the possibility of words and worlds of scientific meaning. Logic lay in most corners of my knowledge and the solace it provided was a temporary comfort. Mystery novels; probably the primary culprits. Soon, the use of the mind to understand, to comprehend before creating became essential to thinking, wondering and questioning. Every life is a story, and every story can be mapped out, presented as a flow chart and clinically treated. Our stories are cluttered with logic. Cause-effect relations huddle round every corner waiting to be discovered and treated with an excited, scientific mind. We believe it unfailingly possible to comprehend the lives we choose. We believe we understand ourselves and forget that our existence is mere, and yet infinitely beyond our minds.
Slowly, foolishness creeps in with each morning, as the mind stirs and we roar into the sunrise and the eye of another mystery.