The wobble of our atmosphere, like the liquid and air bubbles wiggling in the space between an inner and outer ball/sphere, condenses nearby, compressed, seeking equilibrium, I think anthropomorphically?
To continue a thought process:::=>
If reading is no longer enjoyable – a combination of uninteresting/alarmist/uninformative news articles and poor eyesight – and television/DVD viewing is just about as difficult because of tiny/inoperable remote control buttons, one is left more frequently to one’s neurochemical activities (thoughts, for the most part).
How many decades can a person stay self-entertained and able to pick up/maintain an ordinary superficial social conversation at the drop of a hat or knock/ring at the door?
We may be states of energy and nothing more but we understand concepts of inner and outer worlds.
The tree of knowledge may provide my primary source of nutrition, as caustic and spicy as the fruit may be, but most have developed lifelong habits on the foodstuff of the simple sugars/salts of ordinary ignorance.
My species is a neverending game of multidimensional chess because I can still comfortably read, write, and press miniature gizmo control buttons.
In my 10th decade, should I live so long, will I willingly play games with my species when so little of the cultural habits of my formative years, or even my early adult years, exists?
The living heroes of 19th Century headlines are largely dead and forgotten (why never smallly? Clumsylooking spelling, perhaps?).
A nurse born and raised in Donegal, with three wonderful redheaded children, lives and works in east Tennessee.
Will the interconnected thoughts of the last two paragraphs (triggering both memories of working/playing in Ireland and the book about the fiery Chicago redhead from Ireland) have more importance on anyone besides me in 50 years?
Tonight I could be dancing to bluegrass at a venue in east Tennessee, southwest Virginia, western North Carolina or southeastern Kentucky.
Instead, I sit, read and write, missing a chance to re/immerse myself in the culture of my childhood.
I clearly see the thought process of my mother in-law and where she thinks she can go to live out her remaining years that most closely match the years of her life she fondly calls the culture of her childhood and early adulthood.
She’s a gentle persuader (trait of an ideal teacher/mother), not a coercer. Will she get what she wants in the midst of whateverybody else wants for her/them?
Glad I’m just the humble messenger/errand boy in this slice of life, far from any knowledgeable boughs, ignorantly following my bliss in joyful participation in the sorrows of the world.
This invisible hermit bows and thanks you for his future silence…humour clouds his common courtesy and pride causes him to write jokes that uncourteously offend others in their blissful duties.
Silence is my friend. Let all = all.
In other words, I have forgotten how seriously others take their social interactions in Life while I laugh in/at the face of Death, which has no/its grip on me.
treetrunkdings 