Meet the New Boss...

Apologies.  I have been absent since before the anniversary of the Birth of Our Lord and have felt remiss in my dedication to the enlightenment of the masses.  Not that I am the all-knowing, all loving God that I have some understanding of, and from whom you must take heed in your daily struggle to discern right from wrong.  I am more akin to the “All powerful OZ” who plies his trade behind a curtain while admonishing others to pay him no heed.

In that light I must admit to a period of sentient ignorance whilst I saw to the infirmities from which I suffer, chief amongst them being apathy, sloth, and idiocy.  In this time of bliss, I have not found anything telling to write about.  I have endeavored to focus on the amazing male bovine excrement from which I have finally found to be a source, if not small, of income – fiction.

While I believe in the power of the message one might convey in a good old fashioned yarn with an origin coming out of my hellishly active imagination, I have found muse for another scathing diatribe on the state of affairs on the third planet from the Sun.  There is a new Pope.  Unfortunately for those of us that like to peer into the future, there does not appear to be very much change in store for the One True Religion that I was born into, baptized, educated in and grew into adulthood in.

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

I have always wondered why the Lord Jesus saw fit to command us to love one another.  Somehow I am befuddled that the progenitors of my faith have consistently and systematically chosen to ignore that simple mandate from the one person they proclaim to be magnificent, glorious, superlative, and totally worthy of worship.  Why is it so difficult to give our neighbors a break and allow them to live happy lives in the same manner that is our aspiration, and ambition?  

Right out of the gate, this new guy has renewed the hate, indifference, and institutional bigotry that  is  in contradiction to the vehemently strong stance Liberation Theology which has been championed by many of Latin American clergy?  If he is not of a mind to agree with his own people, how can he lead a religion with the diversity present in modern day Catholicism?  Why must we condemn gay people, why do we have to conceive children we are not able to care for?  WWJD?

I think he would tell them all to go someplace and sell earth shoes instead of trying to lead a religion. 

I like to keep things simple and not ask too many questions.  I am, after all, a civilized man.  Or am I? The things that I learned as a child such as being polite, and being respectful to my elders are great lessons to live by.  At least, that is, until one learns to read.

 “The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization.” ― Sigmund Freud

Speaking of being civilized elicited a further need in me to delve into the manner in which we treat each other as members of the same “civilized” species.  Going to the “Devil’s Diatribe”, or, anything that has anything to do with the news media, I found incontrovertible proof that we have, in fact, become “civilized” as based on Sigmund’s belief

At this point in my research I thought the clearest avenue to elucidate my beliefs was to write a scathing indictment on the state of the world and how the world is wrong.  Then I happened upon another quote that literally yanked my fingers up off the keyboard;

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets." Matthew 7:12, King James Version.

The Golden Rule in all its glory.  I then embarked on a quest using the World Wide Web for whatever wisdom lived there about how humans treat each other.  According to Cambridge University, 83% of the world believes in some form of deity that embraces spiritual tenets that speak to how we treat each other:

Judaism:  "…thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.", Leviticus 19:18  "What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow man. This is the law: all the rest is commentary." Talmud, Shabbat 31a. "And what you hate, do not do to anyone." Tobit 4:15

Islam –

"None of you [truly] believes until he wishes for
his brother what he wishes for himself."

Confucianism -  

"Do not do to others what you do not want them to do to
you" Analects 15:23

"Tse-kung asked, ‘Is there one word that can serve
as a principle of conduct for life?’ Confucius replied, ‘It is the word ‘shu’ –
reciprocity. Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.’" Doctrine
of the Mean 13.3

Try your best to treat others as you would wish to be treated
yourself, and you will find that this is the shortest way to
benevolence."

Christianity -

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men
should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the
prophets." Matthew 7:12, King James Version.

"And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to
them likewise." Luke 6:31, King James Version.

"…and don’t do what
you hate…", Gospel of Thomas 6. The Gospel of Thomas is one of about
40 gospels that were widely accepted among early Christians, but which
never made it into the Christian Scriptures (New Testament). 

Buddhism -  

"…a state that is not pleasing or delightful to me, how could I
inflict that upon another?", or “Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.

Brahmanism –

 "This is the sum of Dharma [duty]: Do naught unto others which would
cause you pain if done to you"

Bahá’í Faith –

"Ascribe not to any soul that which thou wouldst not
have ascribed to thee, and say not that which thou doest not." "Blessed
is he who preferreth his brother before himself."

Ancient Egyptian –

“Do for one who may do for you, that you may cause him thus
to do." The original dates to 1970 to 1640  BCE and may be the earliest version ever
written.

Humanism –

"Don’t do things you wouldn’t want to have done to you,”

Native American –

"Do not wrong or hate your neighbor. For it is not he who you
wrong, but yourself."

Shinto –

The heart of the person before you is a mirror. See there
your own form"

Sikhism –

"No one is my enemy, none a stranger and everyone is my
friend."

Unitarian –

"We affirm and promote respect for the
interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part."

Wicca:

"An it harm no one, do what thou wilt" (i.e. do whatever you will, as long as it harms nobody, including yourself).

"What you hate, do not to another. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."  Hillel the Elder at the turn of the BCE-CE millennia

Mohism

If people regarded other people's families in the same way that they regard their own, who then would incite their own family to attack that of another? For one would do for others as one would do for oneself.

—Mozi

Mozi regarded the golden rule as a corollary to the cardinal virtue of impartiality, and encouraged egalitarianism and selflessness in relationships.

Platonism

The Golden Rule appears to be present in at least one of Plato's dialogues:

One should never do wrong in return, nor mistreat any man, no matter how one has been mistreated by him."

—Plato's Socrates (Crito, 49c) (c. 469 BC–399 BCE)

Quakerism

"Oh, do as you would be done by. And do unto all men as you would have them do unto you, for this is but the law and the prophet." Postscript to the Quaker peace testimony, signed by George Fox.

Scientology

Consistent with the observation by Walter Terence Stace "that 'doing as you would be done by' includes taking into account your neighbor's tastes as you would that he should take yours into account" (see Criticisms and responses to criticisms), Scientology addresses the issue concerning differences in values or interests by focusing on the values and interests of the recipient of the conduct:

Thus today we have two golden rules for happiness: 1. Be able to experience anything; and 2. Cause only those things which others are able to experience easily.

—Scientology: A New Slant on Life, Two Rules for Happy Living

The Way to Happiness

The Way to Happiness expresses the Golden Rule both in its negative/prohibitive form and in its positive form. The negative/prohibitive form is expressed in Precept 19 as:

19. Try not to do things to others that you would not like them to do to you.

—The Way to Happiness, Precept 19

20. Try to treat others as you would want them to treat you.

—The Way to Happiness, Precept 20

Pop culture

Be excellent to each another.

—Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.

—Monty Python's Meaning of Life

Don't be a dick.

—Wil Wheaton

And finally, in the most important way to put it:

“Do the right thing” Spike Lee

This “ethic of reciprocity," is a foundational instruction for nearly the entire world and still, we keep killing, separating, excluding, secluding, shunning, demonizing, estranging, and discriminating against people based on their actions and not on a principle which is a cornerstone of human spirituality.

I could probably go on forever in my dissatisfaction over the election of a new Pope that is apparently no different, ideologically, then what my religion has been spewing for centuries.  Going on about how I can no longer participate in that religion.  Go on about how it must all change.  But, I think not.  I am just another guy with too many words and not enough actions.  After all, I do not love the Conclave of Cardinals today.  Shame on me.  I think I will shut my Gobshite mouth and try to go and do what my God commanded me to do;

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” Matthew 5:43-45

Peace

Making a list…

He quietly stood in the window of the large serving window ladling beef stew into Styrofoam bowls and asking folks if they wanted an extra piece of carrot.  “I grew them in my root garden along with the potatoes, and onions.”  He never seemed to ever smile.  He just went about whatever he was doing with a quiet manner and a solemn look on his face.  Little did I know the miracle I would discover in this short, plump, melancholy man I would attend group with on Thursday nights.

His face came to me often as the holidays approached and I neglected to give it much credence.  I went about my life and thought less and less as time passed.  One night I found myself driving the country road leading to the church where the group was held.  It was about 9:30 and I was on my way home when I came upon this gentleman walking on the side of the road.  I stopped and inquired about his well-being.  He told me that his truck would not start and he was just walking to his house.  I convinced him to get in and took him home.  I offered to help him with his broken vehicle the next day and he smiled at me without committing to anything.  At his house he asked if I would come in for a cup of coffee on the pretense of giving me some money for helping him. After a near heated conversation about the idea that Christian charity requires no remuneration, I finally got the offered cup of Joe and sat in his living room enjoying the company and conversation.

His house was a massive clutter of canvas bags with envelopes bulging out the end.  Not wishing to be nosy, I kept my own counsel, and he never offered an explanation.  The coffee cup emptied and I found cause to leave.  He told me that I could come help him with his truck if I would allow him to take me to lunch for my efforts.  Easily agreed on, we made time plans for the next day.

I showed up the next day and found him at his kitchen table slumped over a pile of letters.  He looked to be in distress and I called an ambulance.  He had had a heart attack and a stroke.  He spent several days in ICU before transitioning into a private room.  He had no feeling on one side of his body, and was going to have to endure a rather extensive series of physical therapy sessions to attempt to get him able to take care of himself.  He was beside himself with worry and kept asking me what the date was.  He made me promise not to tell the folks at the church about his problem.  He refused the in-home nurse and therapy opting to attend physical therapy sessions at the hospital.  How he was going to accomplish this without the use of half of his body did not seem to faze him.  He was adamant that nobody come to his house.  I tried to talk reason to him and finally convinced him that he did, indeed, need assistance.  He told me that he would pay me to drive him every day.  He told me that people who would come to his house would instantly wish to clean and arrange it to make it more livable and he would not have it.

I talked him into giving me nothing more than gas money and to find someone to help him in his house that would not disturb anything he did not want disturbed.  I knew a young lady who was in need of work who had worked in a nursing home for several years and would work cheap.  She was a Certified Nursing Assistant so he could pay her wages with his health insurance as long as a doctor prescribed the need.

Once set up with what he needed he seemed happy enough until, that is, he got home and found out he could not sit at the kitchen table and deal with the envelopes.  He sat at the table and wept over his dilemma.  I could do nothing but offer to help.  He became agitated and almost had another stroke when I reached for one of the envelopes.  I withdrew from the pile and sat down to have a serious talk.  I told him that he needed to start trusting me.  I had earned that consideration for the things I had done for him, and the secrets he wanted me to keep.  I had grown frustrated and angry at the situation.  It must have shown in my tone of voice.  He made me, once more, swear to silence before he told me his secret.

He was retired from the Post Office.  He put 40 years in starting as a handler in a transfer station and worked his way through the ranks of postman, to selling stamps at the counter and on to being the Postmaster.  His father had done the same before him, as well as his grandfather and a few more “Great” in his lineage.  It was all he knew.  Retiring left a hole in his life that he tried to fill with church, and activities in service to the country house of worship…to no avail.

He remembered from his days as a handler that every year the post offices around the country had been swamped with envelopes, mostly in crayon, addressed “Santa Claus, North Pole.”  He always found himself smiling at the phenomenon. He never seemed to figure out how they deluge of mail bags would mysteriously disappear every year.  He just accepted it and was thankful that a few less bags had to be handled in the midst of the holiday onslaught.  When he moved out of being a handler and on to better things, he forgot about it.

His grandfather passed away, and he wondered what would happen to his house (the same house in the country where we sat).  His father told him not to worry and moved into the house himself.  His mother had passed away a year before and it seemed a good step for his Pop.  Then the time came when it was his turn to move out in the country.  What he found was that the house was really just an extension of the handling facility where he worked in younger days.

Apparently, years ago when the North Pole letters had begun to appear, one of his Great Grandfathers had diverted the letters to the house in the country and began reading and answering letters.  Not all of them, but as many as possible.  There had been a fund set up, in treasury bonds, to sustain this activity after retirement.  The service had been passed down to the next generation and it was his turn.  Only he had no children to pass it on to.  His wife and one child had died in childbirth.  His grief never allowed him to marry again causing the dilemma where there was no one to inherit the letters.

He would answer as many letters a possible before burning the rest on New Year’s Day so as to start fresh the next year.  It kept him busy and seemed to give him purpose when his family died. He wept because the only thing that gave him comfort had been taken away by the stroke.

The girl and I listened and felt like weeping ourselves.  We volunteered to inherit the job.  I was unemployed myself, and the girl had a few kids that she could pass it on to. 

He looked at us and sat speechless.  When he regained his voice, he told me that it was a big job.  I told him I was looking for a job. He wondered how I would get the letters.  I told him to dictate a letter of reference and I would take the exam to get hired at the Post Office.  The girl shrugged her shoulder and said that her six year old liked to write letters.  He told me to start reading letters.  He asked to be helped to his easy chair, and we brought him letters.  When he was ready to answer, he would dictate his response to the girl it and then would sign it…

***

I walked out to my shop that morning remembering my somber friend.  I walked in the door and discovered the first of the year’s mail bags being off loaded.  I glanced at the picture of my friend along with the girl (now my wife) sitting in the living room of the house, surrounded by mail bags and smiling as if we had good sense.

With both the Misses and I working full time we were able to use the fund money to purchase enough land surrounding the house in the country to qualify for incorporation as a town.  Once that is, we built several more homes for the kids to move in when they got married.  As expected, I had progressed in the Postal Service to a position where I was able to work the system to assign a zip code for “North Pole Township.”  The shop was really a huge warehouse/handling facility with an office that served to house a few post office boxes and a counter for selling stamps. It did not take long for other areas of the country began sending the crayon addressed letters to us.

The kids, her two and the five we had after marrying, all worked at the small rural post office at some time while growing up.  Three of them became postal employees while the rest went on to college, careers, and families.  Everyone in the family spent time everyday answering letters.  Even those with no return address.  New Year’s Day became a family celebration with the burning of the leftover letters.

I grew a long beard and ponytail when my hair went gray and ultimately white.  I got a set of wire frame reading glasses for Christmas that year and suffered gratefully through the loving ridicule from the kids.  My lovely wife has always made sure there were sugar cookies for all who walked in to buy a stamp or mail a package. 

Standing there, soaking in the joy in my life, I found myself smiling and remembered stopping on a dark country road to help….a jolly old man who was having trouble with the reindeer's.

“Tonight Heaven is too crowded…”

For certain this quote from the television series “West Wing” is applicable to the emotions I find myself encountering.  The seeming cultural deviancy we are experiencing in this country where people find it acceptable to illegally walk into schools and murder whoever is in sight has proven most perplexing.  Outrage and thoughts of vengeance circle my head and bring me to a point of anger that is extremely disconcerting.  Children?!?!?  What in the name of all that is holy or, unholy, can there be a justifiable reason for murdering a child that you do not know?  The children in this latest massacre were ELEMENTARY students?  What could they have done to merit the taking of their lives?

What about the teachers and school staff, some of which charged into the hail of fire in order to protect their students?  More than one gave their lives in order to protect the lives of their kids.  This fact hit me the hardest.  I am a former school teacher who misses the great gift I received each day I taught the wonderful kids that came into my classroom.  They were “my kids” in that I came to a place where I felt towards them with great affection and ownership.  I had been given the phenomenal gift of using the skills and abilities that my God had bestowed on me to affect a child’s life, and cherished and continue to relish in the memories of life in “Mr. Reilly’s class.”  Specific memories have been written of in previous posts on this blog.  Look for them if you will, I have the memories and they make me smile even as we speak.

I found myself in an ever increasing emotional state over the last thirty-six to forty-eight hours, and need to ask, even though I know better - God?  Why did this happen?  I have always struggled with the negative side of life where it relates to my beliefs in a Higher Power.  For years I wrote things such as what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary off in my mind almost as soon as I heard about them, primarily because I had come to a place where this kind of news reporting had become so common.   My feelings today are somehow different.  I find myself in a place of shame for the apathy, and guilt for maintaining that apathy for as long as I have. 

I think about the brave principal who charged the crazed gunman using her body as a shield to protect her kids. I think of the principal who took a chance on me and gave me a classroom to run.  I can see her doing the same thing.  I now find myself in fear of this type of abomination occurring in the school where I taught.

When is this crap going to stop?  When are we, as a species, going to wake up to the realities of modern living?  We allow these incidents to occur and have no realistic idea of how to prevent them from reoccurring.  What about that kid you meet that is a little less sociable then the other in the class?  What is in their head?  Are they going to grow up to do these types of things?

When I say that we allow this sort of atrocity it comes from a decided anger over the way we treat those who are mentally disturbed.  There are people everywhere like this Adam Lanza fellow.  Only, it is against the law to intervene in the life of another person until…they actually do something.  This mentality goes along with a general dissatisfaction I hold with those “Inalienable Rights” our founding fathers set down and have grown to be obsolete in the face of the sort of atrocities that are feasible under the protection of these “rights.”  

The right to bear arms was, at least in my mind, never meant to be a done deal and inviolate when speaking of effective policing of situations like what happened in Newton, Connecticut. I have cause to discuss this area quite often.  My premise is that citizens should be able to own guns, but the guns they own should be restricted.  John Q Public has no need to own a machine gun.  When I speak to my friends I ask them when the last time they were in enough danger to warrant the use of a gun.  Everyone consistently answered in the negative.  

I can easily see the necessity of rapid fire weapons.  Human beings wage war.  We are engaged in one as you read.   The men and women fighting that war need to have weapons that have the ability to fire rapidly and accurately at an opponent who is intent of taking the lives of the enemy.  John Q. who lives in an apartment complex and works at the local Wal-Mart has no business owning a semi or automatic weapon.  Police agencies consistently suggest that the best weapon for home protection is a shotgun…not an AK-47 or an AR-15.

Recently I went to a friend house that lives in the country outside the medium sized city where I live. While there he decided to show off his latest acquisition.  A fully automatic Israeli UZI.  He strutted around like a proud peacock and talked everyone, (except his wife) into going out to shoot this weapon.  Five of us went out and proceeded to light up the side of one of his barns that was in the process of demolition to make way for a newer version of building.  Everyone had a go and there must have been a thousand dollars of spent shell casings lying about on the ground.  Most were expelled with one pull of the trigger.  Everyone laughed at the fact that the targets (a silhouette of a man and one of a woman) had escaped unscathed.  None of my friends had ever served a day in the Armed Forces.  They turned to me and with less than one extended sixty round clip I shot out the head and heart regions of each target completely out of existence. Jaws dropped.

I am no sniper or a real life version of Jason Bourne if that is what you think I am inferring.  I am simply a guy who at the tender age of eighteen raised his right hand, took an oath, and was informed that I would most likely serve the better part of my enlistment in Vietnam.  I found it to be of some importance to listen and learn well when it came time to use and maintain various weapons of war.  When I was released from active duty I decided that those skills were best left on the firing range back at Fort Dix.  I never fired a weapon at another human being while serving in the military.  I did have some bullets fired at me during training.  I have no desire to shoot at anyone, or be shot at.  I do keep a shotgun in my house because I have had occasion to listen to gunfire in my neighborhood while I was watching television. 

 Today’s world is, or at least can be, a dangerous place.  Being prepared for a home invasion is a reality in this day and age.  However, defending that home with a weapon that can shot 800 to 1200 rounds per minute is ridiculous.  If one hits the burglar with a shot and he/she collapses, the sheer force and rapidity of the common combat weapon would make an untrained person shoot up whatever room they are in into oblivion.  Grandma’s pictures and wedding pictures come to mind lying on the floor amidst broken frames and glass while the room is pockmarked with bullet holes that will take a professional Drywall contractor and painter to repair(for thousands of dollars at best).  Additionally, what if one of the rounds goes through the wall and ends up in somebody next door whose chief crime is that they chose to live next to an ignorant maniac.  Then there is the statistical reality of this happening to consider.  Feeling safe is just as much accomplished with a shotgun or a pistol.

The astounding reality is that we, as a species, indeed do allow these things to happen by the manner in which we live inside the news media.  The fact that these stories always drive up ratings and garner corporate sponsors for news media companies serves as nothing more than blatant encouragement for this kind of behavior.  Disturbed or deranged killers strive for the recognition they receive by their acts. So what is the answer?  This is what Morgan Freeman the famous actor has to say about it –

“You can help by forgetting you ever read this man's name, and remembering the name of at least one victim. You can help by donating to mental health research instead of pointing to gun control as the problem. You can help by turning off the news."

Amen, Brother!  I find myself long in verbiage and do not know what else to say.  The old saying bandied about by the gun lobbies and companies on how “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people” sounds weaker and weaker as more massacres transpire.  Perhaps another great writer (☺) might have something to say about massacres…

"It is so short and jumbled and jangled, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like "Poo-tee-weet?"

"I have told my sons that they are not under any circumstances to take part in massacres, and that the news of massacres of enemies is not to fill them with satisfaction or glee. I have also told them not to work for companies which make massacre machinery, and to express contempt for people who think we need machinery like that." – Kurt Vonnegut

Peace

Raison d' etre

“You've got to do your own growing no matter how tall your father was.” (Irish Proverb)

For a time here lately I have been finding myself in a position to question the ideal of existence and how it applies to me.  It is my belief that I am serving penance for the arrogance I have towards some schools of philosophy.  I liken myself as a thinker of great thoughts and have, indeed, spent much time in the contemplation of varying ideas and have read and studied quite a few.  I originated this curiosity back in the ‘70’s when a guy I was getting drunk with asked me a question that, to me, made absolutely no sense.  At the time I gave it little consideration due to a mentality at the time that young men existed to get inebriated with liquor, high from whatever psychedelic material came available, and laid as much as possible.  In later years, while at university studying at the knee of a philosophy professor who I thought much of the question came up again, and I resisted the urge to fade into flashback city.  It was the old “if a tree falls in the forest…” gig and I still had no clue how to answer.  Twenty years later, I still don’t.

I also delved into conversations of mind and body, existence of God, and (most vexing) the existence of my own self.  I learned all the terms: Ontological Arguments, Empiricism, Epistemology, A Priori, A Posteriori, A Fortiori, causality, Platonism, pluralism, pragmatism, rationalism, realism, relativism, skepticism, Socratic Method, Teleological Argument, Theism, Thomism, and Anselm's Ontological Argument.

The English language was never meant to be spoken this way.

Learning these things served, at the time, to further show me that I probably needed to stick to things that I understand.  I chose to live life in the realm of the understood and leave the great question to others who delight in being intensely perplexed.

I made this grand and seemingly wise decision to no avail.  I became a writer and the focus of my life became (paraphrasing a Twelve Step slogan) the getting and using and finding the ways and means to get more…words.

Along with this getting and using etc. came the principle of understanding the words I use.  Understanding the meaning behind the words that I string together in order to make a cognizant piece.  And this meant that I had to learn about whether or not I exist.

I was sitting in a meeting the other day of my favorite Twelve Step group, reading about the theory of existentialism on my smart phone when another member sat next to me and asked me what I was reading.  I told him and he scrunched up his eyes and asked me why the F%@# I needed to learn that.  Slipping into the ease and comfort of sarcasm I sat up and announced that I was in search of evidence that I really and truly exist.

He reached over and slapped the hat off of my head.  “Feel that?” he demanded.  I said that I did and that it hurt.  “Well there’s your answer.  If you can feel you exist.”

Still sputtering in righteous indignation, I attempted to launch into a debate and possibly an argument, such as a philosopher would, when he held his hand in the air.  “Dude I got run off from the bridge I have been sleeping under and it is going to be 34˚ tonight.  Do you seriously believe that I can think myself out of being cold?”

Therein lays my issues.  I spend time sitting in my comfortable apartment with heat, electric, water, food, and electronic media to entertain myself while other are lucky to even get out of the wind for a few minutes.  All my great and grand thoughts seem to fade into oblivion in the face of confronting irrefutable proof that I, as many others do, in fact, exist. 

I got the muse for this piece from a writers group I belong to and they wanted to know what my reason to exist was where it concerns writing.  Being the ever complicated fool, I thought the focus too narrow and decided to write one of those great and grand pieces about how I intellectually can solve the problem of existence.  I let it ruminate and percolate in my brain for several days.  I looked things up, and cut, copied, and pasted really cool things to put into it.  I started an outline.

And then I deleted the entire batch of bovine excrement.

Looking at that guy, remembering having my head slapped, and realizing the reality of life in the world today brought me back to my initial issue with existentialism as well as philosophy.  The crap is too hard to read, and is not relevant in my life as I am living it today.

What is my reason to exist?  Today it is to write this piece and cook some baked ziti.  Tomorrow has no real plan because it does not exist and will not exist until when, and if, I wake up tomorrow…if there is a tomorrow.

Peace