“The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.”
Mitch Albom (born 1958); WHAT IS MY MEANING Man I don't even know.
I can't wait for ski season. No TV. Lots of snow and good music. And warmth and friends. Hopefully family too.
I hope Nathan and I get along well this year. I hope Ryan doesn't come back into the picture. I hope, I hope hope. I know I have been bummy lately. But it's hard to find motivation. Especially after Spencer. There doesn't seem to be a point. I know, theoretically, there is, bla bla bla, but it's tough. And I've had low self esteem lately. Maybe I should write some sentences that don't begin with I.
Maybe I should get off the computer, and go stain the deck. But it's moist outside. But I need to, or I could have gone to lunch with Nathan, and I said I couldn't because I needed to stain, so if I don't stain then none of it was worth anything.
But this high speed internet + new musical discoveries + portable ipod speakers is SO MUCH FUN :)
Movie night at Benny's tonight. poor kid. I don't get it. How do you accept things you can't change, with grace even, how do you accept things that happen for no reason, that don't make any sense, that just doesn't fit? And how do you move on. I don't feel bad for her. But I miss her. and I do kind of feel bad a little I guess, because there's so much she didn't do. With her friends, with life. She would have made a great mom. A great woman. And she never got the chance. And I'm sure she's somewhere now where she'd never even want to come back, not even for her parents, not for her friends, for anybody. But it still sucks. How can someone be gone in an instant. Where do you go. What leaves. What makes it happen. Why can't we be repaired? If the body is just a machine. Why can't we just put it back together, and it works again. Her neck could have been fixed. Her body stitched back up. And she should be here again. Old age I can understand; when the body wears out, it wears out. It's served its purpose.I guess once we have served our purpose here, we can go. And Spencer certainly did well with hers. but what does that even mean? What are "we"? What is it that makes us, us? It's really hard to account for all that without a God. But I can't make my brain account with a God; I can accept that I have no idea what makes us tick, that it's something I just can't comprehend, but I can't accept that there is a man puppeteering the strings way up above. I can't accept that it's a human-like figure, no matter how un-human He really is. I can't comprehend it. Or Jesus.
So I don't know. Buddhism really appeals to me, with karma and all. But I can't see Spencer back here, paying for whatever. And I can't see her in some sort of nirvana. I see her dancing around with the God she loved.
So how does it all fit together, then? What does it mean. I think we all get at the same idea. Maybe we go where we believe? But what if you don't believe anything, or what if you believe that the end is really some sort of mishmash of it all put together, that it's just a happy place where everyone goes.
Maybe it's a place where only the good parts of your soul go. To account for the rapists and child molesters. Because I do think that people are inherently good. They just get fucked up along the way. And a lot of people, even if they do fucked up things, really honestly think they are doing what's right. So maybe it's all the really decent bits that gather together and frolic in the meadows of heaven. And all the bad bits go back down to try again. Because if you really think about it, your soul isn't all one big happy family. You have parts that long for this and parts that want to do that and things that you don't even know where they came from or what they mean. And it's layers upon layers, deep meanings and undisclosed desires and hidden thoughts, and some things stem from occurrences or incidences or repressed feelings, and some come from absolutely nowhere. Maybe the absolutely nowheres are from your previous lives. Maybe your soul is made up of bits of you, and bits of other people, your "previous lives." Why am I so fascinated with the old world, with old sailing ships and maps and piracy and compasses and exploring? Maybe part of my soul was once Robert Grays'. And it's back, to try to redeem itself for killing some Indians.
I don't really know. But I kind of like this theory. It helps a little.
I can't wait for ski season. No TV. Lots of snow and good music. And warmth and friends. Hopefully family too.
I hope Nathan and I get along well this year. I hope Ryan doesn't come back into the picture. I hope, I hope hope. I know I have been bummy lately. But it's hard to find motivation. Especially after Spencer. There doesn't seem to be a point. I know, theoretically, there is, bla bla bla, but it's tough. And I've had low self esteem lately. Maybe I should write some sentences that don't begin with I.
Maybe I should get off the computer, and go stain the deck. But it's moist outside. But I need to, or I could have gone to lunch with Nathan, and I said I couldn't because I needed to stain, so if I don't stain then none of it was worth anything.
But this high speed internet + new musical discoveries + portable ipod speakers is SO MUCH FUN :)
Movie night at Benny's tonight. poor kid. I don't get it. How do you accept things you can't change, with grace even, how do you accept things that happen for no reason, that don't make any sense, that just doesn't fit? And how do you move on. I don't feel bad for her. But I miss her. and I do kind of feel bad a little I guess, because there's so much she didn't do. With her friends, with life. She would have made a great mom. A great woman. And she never got the chance. And I'm sure she's somewhere now where she'd never even want to come back, not even for her parents, not for her friends, for anybody. But it still sucks. How can someone be gone in an instant. Where do you go. What leaves. What makes it happen. Why can't we be repaired? If the body is just a machine. Why can't we just put it back together, and it works again. Her neck could have been fixed. Her body stitched back up. And she should be here again. Old age I can understand; when the body wears out, it wears out. It's served its purpose.I guess once we have served our purpose here, we can go. And Spencer certainly did well with hers. but what does that even mean? What are "we"? What is it that makes us, us? It's really hard to account for all that without a God. But I can't make my brain account with a God; I can accept that I have no idea what makes us tick, that it's something I just can't comprehend, but I can't accept that there is a man puppeteering the strings way up above. I can't accept that it's a human-like figure, no matter how un-human He really is. I can't comprehend it. Or Jesus.
So I don't know. Buddhism really appeals to me, with karma and all. But I can't see Spencer back here, paying for whatever. And I can't see her in some sort of nirvana. I see her dancing around with the God she loved.
So how does it all fit together, then? What does it mean. I think we all get at the same idea. Maybe we go where we believe? But what if you don't believe anything, or what if you believe that the end is really some sort of mishmash of it all put together, that it's just a happy place where everyone goes.
Maybe it's a place where only the good parts of your soul go. To account for the rapists and child molesters. Because I do think that people are inherently good. They just get fucked up along the way. And a lot of people, even if they do fucked up things, really honestly think they are doing what's right. So maybe it's all the really decent bits that gather together and frolic in the meadows of heaven. And all the bad bits go back down to try again. Because if you really think about it, your soul isn't all one big happy family. You have parts that long for this and parts that want to do that and things that you don't even know where they came from or what they mean. And it's layers upon layers, deep meanings and undisclosed desires and hidden thoughts, and some things stem from occurrences or incidences or repressed feelings, and some come from absolutely nowhere. Maybe the absolutely nowheres are from your previous lives. Maybe your soul is made up of bits of you, and bits of other people, your "previous lives." Why am I so fascinated with the old world, with old sailing ships and maps and piracy and compasses and exploring? Maybe part of my soul was once Robert Grays'. And it's back, to try to redeem itself for killing some Indians.
I don't really know. But I kind of like this theory. It helps a little.
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