Where Reality Comes From

“Youth can not know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” ~ J. K. Rowling

“It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe

“There is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time. Perhaps we become aware of our age only at exceptional moments and most of the time we are ageless.” ~ Milan Kundera

“You get old and you realize there are no answers, just stories.” ~ Garrison Keillor

I haven’t seen the stars in a few days, but here they are again. The snowstorm is what covered them. It’s a perspective thing – we say that the clouds cover the land, but they also cover the stars, should you happen to be looking that way. As a teenager I would climb up top of the roof and lay on my back, stargazing. I was into it – astronomy, physics, science in general. Little did I know that my lyrical poetic side would be stoked by my interest in science and mathematics. Yesterday I was sharing a coupla “back in the day” stories with a young coworker. It struck me that I was like some old man telling stories to a kid. Kid, yeh. My Aunt Juanita was right, you reach a point in life when they all seem like kids. The kid I was talking to yesterday is in his 30s. Yeh, kids. Whatever. Now . . . moving forward. Today’s photograph is of the Picuris range. At the foot you can see the sprawl of Ranchos de Taos and Llano Quemado. The tree front and center is the same Chinese Elm from yesterday’s post. What a difference a season makes, right? So, I’m feeling my age this morning. I could get cranky if so inclined, but I won’t go there. I’m settling into the hibernation instinct, but I can’t really go there either. What with the holiday season looming on the horizon, and impeachment inquiries looming over us all . . . I think it’s enough. The J. K. Rowling quote says a lot, me thinks. Those stories I was sharing yesterday were, are, whatever, memories. I have been told at times that I am living in the past. Spiritual wisdom says that the present is all there is; there is no past or future. So if that’s true, how can anyone live in the past? Just sayin. The accuracy of memories is, without a doubt, questionable, but I suspect that this is merely an illusion created by us humans because we don’t really understand time and illusion. Why does accuracy have to be an issue anyway? As long as the memories in question instruct and comfort in a proactive way the point is moot, as far as I am concerned. My friend Sandy, an indigenous woman from the Bay Islands in Honduras, once said, “What does it matter where reality comes from?”. Yeh, what she said.

All is well. Goof gloriously.

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