As usual, my more colvoluted and abstract philosophizing, on my past relationship with the concept of God, was rudely interrupted by the most mundane of annoyances, actual day-to-day life things. In this case, the interference was from the startling notion that I might regain my weekends and weekday nights, if some shifts slide around and become open at my site. These blocks of time had been long lost and nearly forgotten, like the Mycaenean civilization, and dare I dream that the closed opportunities could open. Not unlike Sir Pellinore and the Questing Beast, my chance is probably no more than a passing fancy, a dream of a new order, but it remains unobtainable in the end. But I asked my boss anyway, and I'm still under the slightly possible category. I felt then a momentary upsurge of hope, which is now still risen as a resonant belch.
Of course, I didn't take that long for my brain to dissect this event and try to cook into a philosophical stirfry, with the speed and grace of a crosseyed Japanese hibachi chef. Least the philosophical rambling of an analysis is on something more substantive, hope, than say, the metaphysical implications of Jell-O, or the spiritual relevations to be found in knowing all the true ingredients of Spam. (These are true examples of where my mind has gone) Even the cereal box can be intellectually dangerous for me.
Anyway, I really do like hope, as I like any concept that is both pragmatically elegant, and patently absurd, simultaneously. We're talking about a near-universal that has sustained humanity for millienia, through the relative and irrational belief that life will get better since bad things don't really happen to good people, and if bad things do, they're supposed to happen. Basically, its a survival tool to handle that out of control event known as life. Hope calls for blind faith that the slightly less absurd thing will happen to or for you, so you won't lose your mind.. or your life... No-one wants to be sunk bu something that makes no sense, so in the face of troubles from alienation to genocide, humans will do the absurd, or really the absurdly sensible, thing to survive ...Most of the time ....every one in awhile .... hopefully?
I know this analysis from something as petty as wanting my weekends off, as compared to someone hoping not to get shot crossing the street to buy food. I guess that reflects on the amazingly broad spectrum potency of hope. More likely, its a reminder on how relative is the word "survival." Whatever the circumstances and gradations it is found in, hope is the most intangibly tangible influence on the multitudinous expressions on everyday chaos, made all the more absurd for its absolute necessity.
Nothing makes this whole hope presence totally absurd to me is how beholden to its bittersweetness.
That I have made it this far, even with a heart full of loneliness and a head full of crossed wires, is due more to blind faith that I am willing to own. Even though I repeatedly fell flat on my face, I was somehow comforted by the belief I was falling forward. I've tried to chalk up my survival to the strength of my will, but that's worked as well as the political doctrine of pre-emptive force. You stand tall but that's so no-one will notice you've blown your own ass off. When I am more negative, I'll counter my survival with sheer cowardice in the face of the mysteries of death. Then again, I didn't have any problem sidestepping into self-destructive tendencies. How about spite, then? At one time, I believed
it was all about spitting at fate and calling yourself victor. That worked as well as putting out a bonfire with a bucket of napalm. So I am left with the discomfort from knowing I'm still around because I simply believed I should be. No matter how scorched I've gotten to get this far, here I am, still careening down the road of life like a drunk driver trying to find his way out of a mall parking lot on a foggy and moonless night who is stupidly happy that at least he's moving. Pretty harsh for a control freak. But I still like it better than the whole giving myself over to oblivion.
So I'm stuck with hope, I guess. But damned if I will ennoble the concept.
I still hope I get my weekends and weeknights.
Of course, I didn't take that long for my brain to dissect this event and try to cook into a philosophical stirfry, with the speed and grace of a crosseyed Japanese hibachi chef. Least the philosophical rambling of an analysis is on something more substantive, hope, than say, the metaphysical implications of Jell-O, or the spiritual relevations to be found in knowing all the true ingredients of Spam. (These are true examples of where my mind has gone) Even the cereal box can be intellectually dangerous for me.
Anyway, I really do like hope, as I like any concept that is both pragmatically elegant, and patently absurd, simultaneously. We're talking about a near-universal that has sustained humanity for millienia, through the relative and irrational belief that life will get better since bad things don't really happen to good people, and if bad things do, they're supposed to happen. Basically, its a survival tool to handle that out of control event known as life. Hope calls for blind faith that the slightly less absurd thing will happen to or for you, so you won't lose your mind.. or your life... No-one wants to be sunk bu something that makes no sense, so in the face of troubles from alienation to genocide, humans will do the absurd, or really the absurdly sensible, thing to survive ...Most of the time ....every one in awhile .... hopefully?
I know this analysis from something as petty as wanting my weekends off, as compared to someone hoping not to get shot crossing the street to buy food. I guess that reflects on the amazingly broad spectrum potency of hope. More likely, its a reminder on how relative is the word "survival." Whatever the circumstances and gradations it is found in, hope is the most intangibly tangible influence on the multitudinous expressions on everyday chaos, made all the more absurd for its absolute necessity.
Nothing makes this whole hope presence totally absurd to me is how beholden to its bittersweetness.
That I have made it this far, even with a heart full of loneliness and a head full of crossed wires, is due more to blind faith that I am willing to own. Even though I repeatedly fell flat on my face, I was somehow comforted by the belief I was falling forward. I've tried to chalk up my survival to the strength of my will, but that's worked as well as the political doctrine of pre-emptive force. You stand tall but that's so no-one will notice you've blown your own ass off. When I am more negative, I'll counter my survival with sheer cowardice in the face of the mysteries of death. Then again, I didn't have any problem sidestepping into self-destructive tendencies. How about spite, then? At one time, I believed
it was all about spitting at fate and calling yourself victor. That worked as well as putting out a bonfire with a bucket of napalm. So I am left with the discomfort from knowing I'm still around because I simply believed I should be. No matter how scorched I've gotten to get this far, here I am, still careening down the road of life like a drunk driver trying to find his way out of a mall parking lot on a foggy and moonless night who is stupidly happy that at least he's moving. Pretty harsh for a control freak. But I still like it better than the whole giving myself over to oblivion.
So I'm stuck with hope, I guess. But damned if I will ennoble the concept.
I still hope I get my weekends and weeknights.
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