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You know, when I’m in the middle of quiet time, which is mainly while running, biking, and swimming, my mind wanders into a bewildering place. Yesterday I started thinking about Plato’s, “The Myth of the Cave”, where people who have never left the cave and never seen either daylight or fire, and only look in one direction; see shadows on the wall from a fire behind them and believe the shadows are reality. Like the people of the cave, I am frequently puzzled and mystified when I try to make sense of this humongous universe and our seemingly insignificant existence. From the beginning of time humans have wondered and asked, “Why?” Hard to explain this earthly possession we call life. Is it a divine creation or simply random chance? Are we products of God or chaos? Like the Whos in Whoville, is our world on a flower carried in Horton’s trunk? Is our universe in the black hole of a larger universe? Am I in a video game? What is reality? As I (regrettably) acknowledge the end of my own existence, I must confess I am no nearer to understanding anything than I was as a naïve teenager. Science offers opinions. So does religion. The first is pragmatic; that is, we’re an organism made up of the same substance as all other living things on the planet, and like all other living things, we’ll decay, decompose, and cease to exist. It will be like before we were born. The second opinion insinuates we are formed in the image of a Creator and will be carried into another dimension upon completion of this trial. The characteristics of this new dimension depend (they say) on whether we were good or bad little boys and girls. I find myself looking at trees and flowers and dogs and turtles. I compare them to myself when looking over the Chemical Periodic Chart of Elements. It is my nature to consider similarities before differences. Am I a walking plant? The Freemasons refer to a Grand Architect of the Universe and point to the majestic, orderly design of the cosmos; how organized cause-and-effect with divine purpose created Earth and all life upon it; how atoms and molecules follow the same basic design as solar systems, galaxies, and universes. On the other hand, scientific discoveries point to unending chaos, bodies careening about like billiard balls crashing into each other, violent explosions, and deadly radiation—basically a literal Hell from which there is no escape. That’s right, folks, those lovely Northern Lights (or Aurora Borealis) are nothing but solar flares trying to get through Earth’s magnetic field and nuke us. And dig a thing like this: your refrigerator magnets are stronger than that magnetic field. Anyway, one way or another, sooner-or-later we’re doomed. Take your choice: either die naturally like a wilting flower or (assuming science figures out how to delay the inevitable) live “forever” only to be consumed when the sun inevitably becomes a red giant. “No worries,” say the Masons, “That’s all part of the architectural scheme. It’s a master plan.” “That’s true,” agrees science, “From destruction comes new existence. Supernovas (exploding stars) create the basic elements from which all substance is made—even us.” According to science, we are star children. All of this does nothing to clear up my confusion. If anything, it makes it worse by posing new questions, which (also) have no answers. Talk about feeling inept and just plain stupid… My wife, bless her heart, thinks I’m halfway intelligent. That’s like referring to me as an athletic Stephen Hawking or a handsome Frankenstein’s Monster or a fast tortoise or a—well, you get the idea. I take some comfort in the words of W. E. Deming who always said the most important things in life are unknown and unknowable. Still—WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME??? A positive effect of all this bewilderment is that I pay no heed to things that used to annoy me, namely: 1) the sports media’s incessant prattle and pandering over Danica Patrick, the Williams sisters, and Tiger Woods; 2) that only in America exists so-called reality TV stars and the antics of Lady Gaga; 3) people who believe they’re the only ones permitted to exercise free speech; 4) references to Obama as Obozo and Odolph; 5) slimeball political tactics criticizing Romney’s Mormonism and association with Bain Capital; 6) guilty white-race-driven political correctness; and 7) neighbors who don’t have a dog for me to play with and them to care for. I don’t give a fig for any of this anymore. Plus I have set myself free to do anything I chose providing I cause no harm to others. Pretty sweet, huh? The negative effects I’ve already outlined above, but just this very day today received some help. Maybe. A book arrived from my Arizona buddy, Dennis, entitled, PHILOSOPHY ON THE GO by Joey Green. So far, I’ve only read the Introduction and have already found a few gems to wit: “…questions that everyone has pondered at one time or another but that most people agree can never be answered…if you keep thinking about them, you’ll drive yourself insane…” and “…most philosophers are a bunch of social misfits with nothing better to do…” and “…answers merely raise more questions that escalate way out of control…” You know, I think I’m going to be all right; or at least resigned to whatever fate has in store. I wrote a verse about my particular dreamland experience--and here it is (at no extra cost to you)! SILENT EYES I never know the moment when I fall into slumber It’s a mystery I’m awake lying quietly in my bed; then I’m under Will death sneak up on me like this? But, rule of Earth no more applies When silence comes behind my eyes / Scenes unreal appear and (I think) knowledge is given Sights mysterious Visions are alien, but strangely impart new wisdom Will I remember what I see? From ignorance now I am wise When all goes quiet behind my eyes / The Ancients believed that dreams contain divine meaning Mystery is revealed Odd that no worldly logical sense is found in such dreaming Not in the conscious world But all is exposed—truth and lies When it is silent behind my eyes / Awake mystery returns; memory has (mostly) vanished Teasing shadows remain The answers (and questions) are gone; my perceived peace vanquished Why can I not remember? Unknown Sandman what did you advise When all was quiet behind my eyes / Will I be aware when I take the final fall? See the bright light? Is it simply a brain shutting down; really nothing at all? Or is it divine? Will my last sounds be futile sighs When forever silent behind my eyes / Yeah, or something like that… Copyright by Gene Myers, author of AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN (2009), Strategic Publishing Group, New York, NY – a hilarious account of the author’s overseas travels; and SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE (2010), PublishAmerica, Fredericksburg, MD - a mildly sinister, but amusing work of fiction. Both are available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and available in Amazon Kindle and Nook formats. Visit www.myersamazon.com
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