Wednesday, August 09, 2006

100 Posts (and the meaning of life...)

Ordered by importance:

1. almost literary is one hundred posts old today. Hooray!

2. Last night, the foil turned, and loved my rewrite. The class agreed. Hooray!

3 And the meaning of life is…oh..uh…hmmm. Poetic justice? Is that what it’s called when your entire family (save you) is touring the distilleries of Scotland while you slave away over a hot computer?

No really, I had a meaning of life conversation with a guy I barely know (of course, isn’t how these things always start—even I can’t keep up with the aching clich├ęs of my own life) and he sparked a thought in me, nay, handed over his philosophy for me to steal—I mean, make my own.

The meaning of life, he said, many cachacas later, is creation.

No, wait, this isn’t as bad as it sounds.

He said since we are somewhat reflective of the force that created us, our point is to then create on our own. I take this to mean literally life (babies, care for other humans to prolong their own, nurturing animals and the planet, etc.) and also figuratively as creating a force (passion, peace, love, writing, music, art, a shorter path for those less fortunate, etc.).

Unfortunately, the seer stopped there. He had no explanation for exactly how to do that or to what end, leaving me not far from where I was at three years old, pageboy haircut and round patent-leather shoes, my favorite yellow dress, following my poor mother around our house in Miami asking, “why?” (“Because that button turns on the dishwasher” “Why?” “Because it’s connected to a mechanism that starts a processe for washing the dishes.” “But, why?”).

Still, it’s a start. So for now, I’ll keep writing in the hopes of creating something not half-bad.

And I hope you will too, whatever your creation, big or small, may be...

11 comments:

Laura said...

I agree with the guy you barely know.

Nietzsche had it all wrong. It's not the will to power that makes us human, but the will to create things that have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with our survival. (Koosh ball anyone?) Humanity is a drive toward frivolity, and then a drive to make our frivolity to seem incredibley important.

M said...

happy 100 :)

Another twentysomething said...

If your life were a movie, I imagine this philosophy sharing character looking like a calm version of Steve Buscemi. Bright words. Whenever we can find a thought or a theory that makes all this a little more sensical, then we're better off. Have fun applying this-- and creating!

Anonymous said...

Hooray for you!!

Anonymous said...

your bf is cheating on you...thought you should know.

K said...

Anonymous, details, please...

Buffy said...

I never run into intuitive strangers. Only mad ones. And by mad I mean stark raving.

K said...

So this is crazy, but I ran into yet another strange guy last night, also with the meaning of life. I wanted to post today but am too busy, but the short of it is he was this craggly old guy with suspenders and he grabbed my hand to "feel my vibrations", told me that he could tell my father loved me even though he was hoping for a boy at my birth, and to always be inspired and the create something meaningful. Are the cosmos telling me something?

themarina said...

Um. The fact that you had "the talk" with two strangers in one week sort of suggest something...I'm just not sure what...

Congratulations on 100 posts and on turning the foil from "The Dark Side" to "The Force".

Have a great weekend.

K said...

Lol. Thanks. But does it count that this second stranger brought it up to me--without provocation?

C-47 said...

I havent been around that long but I have found that there tend to be strange moments of jungian synchronicity that occur. A life changing thought will occur, a phone call will out of the blue, and a bizarre car accident will all descend in like a three day period. It doesnt happen often, but when it does it only reinforces my beliefs. Which lay along the lines of your stranger. If from a big bang created, and made up of only that matter, then we are predisposed to acting as such. To be born, expand out through age, creating galaxies and satelites en route. Then a collapse in old age, a shrinking and eventual death. Memories, emotions, relationships are just microcosms of that so much greater above, and beyond us. We are just naked monkeys, capable of hearing the whispers of our beginning