Complexity. It is all around us and within us. So it seems to us, at least. As humans, we see the universe and life as complex systems and processes and would like to understand them. In doing so, we pull things apart to a level we think we understand and then put all the simple parts together and wonder why the conglomerate does not function quite as the complex system did to start with.
I have been reading about a man who pretended to be someone other than who he was. At least, that was how he was described in the late 1880s in England. It has made me wonder how someone can not be who they are and what leads others to think this way.
Why can it be so difficult to relate to another person in a consistently positive way? On the other hand, what makes it possible for a man and a woman to stay together after the first flush of lust borne of the urge to procreate? Is the lust between individuals in a gay coupling borne of the same urge?
How do we reach a decision about what is morally acceptable and what is not? To what extent are such decisions made on an individual basis and to what extent are they foisted on us by others?
In writing this weekly blog, I tend to steer clear of commenting on matters that are current fare for the media, especially politics. I would prefer what I write to have a more timeless quality, rather than be tied to the ups and downs of what is happening in the world. However, I find I am prompted to explore deeper issues by my reactions to some current events. One such has grabbed my attention and got my goat.
I took the dogs out for a walk shortly after sunset and was awed by the beauty of two bright planets in the western sky: Venus close to setting and Jupiter some thirty degrees higher up. The horizon was suffused with bands of deep orange and a strange green.
It started with an innocent nail clipper. At least I thought it was innocent, but I was not allowed to take it on the flight to Perth. As it was sternly removed from my carry-on luggage, I imagined that someone bent on violence could have wrestled it from my grasp as I trimmed my toenails in seat 23D. She could then have used it to pull out the fingernails of one of the cabin staff for serving cold coffee and stale scones.
Sometimes I read what I posted some time ago and it seems rather negative in hind-sight. This set me thinking about the difference between listing all that is wrong with the world and imagining what we can do to solve existing problems.
Writing is a secret pleasure indulged in by dreamers and visionaries, as well as those who have a burning desire to proclaim their insights and wisdom to the world. Reading is also a private pleasure, with the individual questing, searching, drinking in whatever nourishment and flavour the words may offer up.
January 1788, around the 26th, is symbolic of a major shift in how many contemporary humans related to their world. It is symbolic at many levels.