Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Lately it seems as if everything happening has its roots in something that grew when we were looking elsewhere. Things create themselves and grow without intent. A walk in the forest runs one headlong into a tree or over a log or onto our ass as we wonder how all that happened...and most importantly, why?
We always want to know why because it is the map we followed to get to where we are. But the problem with relying on such a map is that it was written after you became aware of its existence.
What good is that? The only people who spend an overabundance of time on hindsight are Philosophers. They always want to know why so they can tell you all the reasons why doesn't exist. They tell you why is a crutch, an excuse, a moral dilemma.
Humans want to know why for the same reason they created things like gods and deities and fairies and leprechauns and trolls and liberals. It gives them something to put their responsibility into, a sort of bucket that holds sins real and imagined. It gives them an excuse to blame something outside themselves for choices they've made.
No one wants to admit the dumbest choices they made in their lives were deliberate and completely thought out. No one wants to confess their most boneheaded mistakes were plotted as if they were some map leading to a mythical treasure that awaited the biggest fool in the world to stumble upon it and claim it as his or her own special reward.
But when things go right, when things just fall into our laps, when we walk out of the forest and collide with a butterfly that leads us off the map and onto an undiscovered path, then we say we are helpless, that we are following our hearts, that we are unhappy and this will make us happy, that we are happy and this will make us miserable, that every choice we make in life is going to make some people deliriously happy and it is going to make others desperately sad and it is going to make the rest mad as hell.
But none of it matters, does it, when you get right down to it? We make our choices. They make us. And the Philosophers argue it endlessly with little old blue-haired ladies over backyard fences.
Try Peace for a change.
Posted by Kate Taylor at 8:48 PM