Thought Sixty Seven

Definitions.

I have and many times continue to assume my definitions are ubiquitously the same among those I care for. That is a mistake, as I have learned to my detriment recently. I think it may be due to my consanguinity. I assume that the words I speak are understood with the same definitions that I hold in my mind and memories.

But they are not.

For even the definitions in my mind are often like a part of a fuzzy set, defined multiple ways and with internal visual interpretations that only I understand in the language of who I am. This definitely would make a difference in the course of communication with another person. Even someone you might feel that you know well. It may also be the reason that you can spend many lifetimes seeking to know someone, only to find that you have barely scratched the surface of who they are.

Then too, how much do we know ourselves? I feel that much of this life has been a long journey towards self-knowledge and the learning of how much I don’t know. For all that I have learned in this long life, I see the unthinkably large universes of knowledge that I don’t know. And the people around me are universes unto themselves. Vast deep structures of knowledge and experience that I can only hope to learn but a little.

Stepping into this, I realize that we walk alone. We hope and try to communicate but fail in a thousand million ways. The dictionaries of ourselves in a billion different languages that speak only in the most generalist of terms. Even physical touch is a language that plays out in a multitude of differing languages.

I wish I could walk the corridors of your mind and know the paths upon which you tread. To read your dictionaries and understand the person that you are and perhaps share some of my own. But for this life and many others, we will wander in the darkness before the light of morning, the white sand dusting our boots and shouldered weapons as we walk towards a dawn that is far and away.

Perhaps then we will meet once again. In the early morning hours over a cup of black coffee and a cigar in that white desert.

 

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Thought Sixty Six

Life’s moments are temporary at best.

A passing moment shared with someone you love. Then it’s gone. Some moments you understand profoundly and some remain fuzzy in an unpleasant aching belly sort of way. Still, each day is a is another opportunity to feel peaceful, to work and engage in ways that perhaps you had not before.

I have been pretty busy lately at work, and I find that I like it. The ground around me shifts and trembles with change, but I stay on my feet. The dunes of sand are forever shifting, or so it goes in this the white desert. Where once was a fertile valley of green with a small oasis of cool water, now lingers only another rolling dune of white sand. Though I mourn at this loss, the white desert doesn’t end. So I shake the dust from my boots and continue on. What lies ahead I cannot tell. However, this walk in the desert shall continue. Until the one day when we find the sea and the white desert is no more.

Until then, I will walk.

 

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Thought Sixty Five

I was thinking about all of the good in my life over the last few weeks. There is more than I can list, but here are a few:

  • Wonderful friends
  • An awesome relationship with a very special woman
  • An amazing daughter
  • Super relatives
  • A great job that I enjoy
  • A beautiful house
  • Purpose and creativity
  • Peace in my soul

I often think about where I am and why. I don’t feel like I have lost so much anymore. Twenty-seven years of marriage to a despicable narcissistic person have taught me many lessons and have helped me mature into the person I am now.

Feeling resolute and peaceful I go forward in this present moment. With that, I also think about karma/consequence. Several times while driving in the last few weeks, I have had people behave in unbecoming ways. It didn’t matter to me what they did, just how I responded.

Now I have logically known this for a long time. However lately, I really felt this in my bones. One place I noticed this was on LinkedIn. On Linkedin, I am approaching having 10K contacts. Every day, I say “Happy Birthday” to people (Linkedin lets you easily do this). I started doing this a couple of years ago. During that year, I received around forty Happy Birthday messages from my contacts. I enjoyed that and wanted other people to enjoy what I experienced as well (on my birthday).

Thinking about this, I see karma/consequence in action.

This has led me to actively choose how I want to respond to people behaving in unbecoming ways while driving. It isn’t just enough to not respond or hold it in. It is choosing to see it for what it is. Am I tossing a large rock into a karma/consequence pool of the negative or positive?

From a purely egocentric view, I am doing this for me.

I like my life and how I feel about it. The one thing I have total control over is how I choose to react and feel. My choices internally and externally make my life and how I perceive it. My karma/consequence are entirely up to me.

I can feel this deep inside of me. More than ever before.

Peace.

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Thought Sixty Four

I notice one lurking around before I went to sleep last night. I shouldn’t be scared by them after fifty-five years of life, but they still startle that hardwired freeze, flight or fight part of myself. I thought at the time, the gods must wish to speak to me, as they occasionally do in the late darkness of the night.

I awoke around 2:00 am after this dream.

There were military vehicles, like the ones I had built scratch models of. I have a room with many futuristic models setting about to do war with each other (part of my writing). But as I looked at them, I realized that they were no different than anything else, like a person or idea of something.

In fact, the person and idea were the same. There was no difference. Really, there was just the idea.

A writer, writing about a writer, that is writing about a writer.

For I am dreaming the dreamer, dreaming the dream, dreaming me.

 

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Thought Sixty Three

I was thinking this morning.

Why do I get irritable when I am uncomfortable. With words that I chose to allow me to feel like less. Logic would dictate that I disregard those words and continue to feel the same as I had. Like water off of a duck’s back.

But instead, I get hurt and angry. Failing to see the intentions behind the teasing. Teasing done by someone you trust, that has good intent for you is just that, teasing. Intended to make you laugh, point out absurdities or even give you a gentle poke in the ribs.

Again, down this trail of learning.

If something bothers me, it is my problem. I am the one having an issue with something a person had said. So I also need to be the one to deal with and own my emotions. To look into myself and determine why I feel the way I do.

Why something hurts.

Why.

 

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Thought Sixty Two

Flying back from California on a Bombardier 900 with a connecting flight in Pheonix, I sat next to an interesting woman. She was dressed in rough clothing (Carhart overalls), wearing round glasses and had a beat up computer she was trying to work on.

When I engaged her in conversation, I found that she was a botanist for the US Forestry service, married to a forest firefighter, had two small children, in recovery from being a Catholic and was in the part of life where people are harried with all the tasks of child raising, engaging work and the administration of life. That seems to be a collective experience with all married couples with children (as well as single parents). Rather bookish in looks, her conversation and thoughts were of more depth than most of the casual conversation I have in my daily work life. Although, if I am honest, because I am often alone, I can be gregarious at times when traveling.

<rabbit trail> When traveling alone, I find I exist in this bubble where only I exist. My thoughts everpresent seem to be even more in the forefront like a companion. In the type of work I do, I meet with people, engage in discussion and discovery, and for the most part, it is social. However, I do find that it is a perpetual process of spending time with people unknown. That being said, I often think that my mind becomes a constant traveler’s companion.</rabbit trail>

Back to my original thought.

During this discussion, I asked her a number of questions just to see if my perception of her stage of life was correct. She was a good sport, and it made the first leg of the journey pass quickly (in my perception). Thinking about the flight I was on, I proposed the following question to her.

What if instead of boarding an aircraft to fly across space through time, you instead entered a portal that disassembled you from matter to energy. Then used that energy to encode the construct that is you. The patterning of the atoms (atomic mappings) that make up your body built into an immensely massive JSON type file or another data construct. That energy package would be transmitted across the traveling distance at the speed of light to a receiver that would then reassemble you. (Think E=MC2). Perhaps the energy used to transmit your energy would be taken from fat cells not reassembled, cancerous cells or another area unwanted. So the traveling would cost would be negligible.

Then, after hundreds of trips through the portals, you found out that effectively, you died every time you were disassembled, and a perfect you reassembled from the energy into mass with the copy of your atomic mappings (minus the unwanted fat, cancer cells, etc.).

You are a copy of a copy’s copy.

You are not who you thought you were.

How do you feel about that?

She did not have any answers for this. I would have been surprised if she had. Although it would have made more interesting conversation. It did leave her with something to think about beyond just the standard daily fare.

Always planting seeds.

Ideas are like viruses. Once they are in the wild, they grow with a life of their own. Influence and change even in the most minimal form are in its way evolution as well.

If the memory of a memory passed across time is a form of reincarnation, it seems to me, it is a bleak one when it comes to the prospect of life after death. Across all cultures from time immemorial, humans have believed in and hoped for life after we cross that great divide, across the River Styx.

If I go based solely on hard data, what I can see, feel and measure, then this is it. There is no further no matter what we do, or how far we go. But then you would have to argue quantum physics, particles that are connected to other particles without crossing time and space. So much we don’t know compared to what we do.

My mind and my heart, the part of me that loves, wants there to be more. To survive and grow into something else with the people I love across the wonder of life. We all yearn for that. That’s where religion digs it rusted crusty malignant claws into us. Teaching us to hate and judge. I have rejected it as a relic of humanity’s childhood. An old dirty toy that has sharp rusty edges that threaten to cut and infect. An ugly thing that should be discarded and tossed away into the landfill of our past.

Forgotten and never to be retrieved.

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Thought Sixty One

What if we are all just insects in our evolution. The way microscopic bugs live on our skin, but we cannot see, nor feel them. The gods would be no more aware of us, than we are of these microscopic creatures that live on us.

In evolutionary terms, perhaps we evolve personally the way some animals do. Random mutations rewarded by nature (as in survival). Perhaps this is our evolution as well. Our organized thought rewarded within these lives or life?

Science is now finding memory is transmitted across generations in RNA. Perhaps some in DNA as well. If that is the case, would it not stand to reason that maybe the idea of reincarnation would be transferred memories between generations?
Perhaps Déjà Vu a form of that as well?

We would be reincarnated if our memories were resurrected in another passed on by generations, making the “bloodline” all the more imperative.

I hate to think it is something so small and simple. I want to give it more depth, to connect in other ways that we cannot. On quantum levels, I don’t begin to understand.
That our organized thought, the part that makes us that us an I, is something that lives on beyond the body and into another existence or evolves into something more.

I like this idea.

As I write this novel that I am working on, the story comes more easily without me even trying. Part of my personal evolution. That would be something.

Getting on a plane, jetting off to the west coast, these things drift through my mind.

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