The Meaning Of Life?

Few things in our existence can be more perplexing than trying to understand, or comprehend the meaning of life: and in opening it for perusal, I would like to ask the following: Have you ever wrestled with the meaning of life in your mind?

If so, did you ever come to a conclusion, or possible answer, or did you like so many others have done so before find it impossible to gain entry through the last few doors, and so left the topic, pending, so to speak.  If you thought about it, what did the thoughts and images in your mind conjure up?

Was it something religious, spiritual, a familiar locale of helping others, a time when you were sad and wished you could change it, or do something about it now?  It's all too familiar, isn't it?

When pondering on this subject many things came to mind, and one by one they were discarded, for they simply did not seem to enlighten the subject.  During the process, I came to the conclusion that the meaning of life meant many things, and that all were unique in their own way, and identifiable with oneself.  Therefore, a solution, and it may be a solution, it may even be the correct conclusion, is that the meaning of life, is nothing more than a series of perfect moments.   Perfect moments that when you think back in time make you smile, make you happy, and make you sad.  Moment’s that you will always remember and never forget.  Great times, bad times, times when you just stood there, molded in one place, struck with awe.  Moments that should be lived and relived as often as possible, in order to learn from.   These to me are the true meanings of life, and they are many.

 What are your thoughts on this subject, can you add more, have you found other interpretations? Are those interpretations yours alone, or can they be shared by others?

It may be interesting to follow another's thoughts on this subject...

This Morning

This morning, for some strange reason, my thoughts returned to the past…

That part of a time long ago when life was “oh so simple” and, when everything was at peace with the world, except for yours truly!

Thoughts of school and of the teachers, whom were part of my life, were running amok, so to speak.

Chuckling at the many thoughts that were bubbling up to the surface reminded me of a time long gone by – a time when I was frowned upon, for many strange reasons.

Thinking back, I tend to believe those teachers had psychological problems and disorders – they were definitely disturbed in some way, and the problem, as I recall it, was always directed at me – perhaps it’s because 'they' were unrecognised at the time as as manic-depressives – it’s certainly worth a little thought on the subject: just a little thought, mind you…

Just because they were getting paid to do a job that was considered difficult “some of the time,” didn’t give them the right to label me as, “disruptive, a nuisance, shows no interest, is tone-deaf, or causes mayhem in the classroom when not supervised!” 

In all honesty, I think they went too far in ‘over-exaggerating’ their claims, their dilemma, if that is the most apt description!

Personally, nowadays, I can see where the problem lies.  Yes, it was their fault, and, it will always be their fault.  They, as providers of education, should have seen my true genius emerging, not the tyrannical rascal they so loved to watch with beady-eyes. 

Whose fault was it that I was born with a mind akin to Einstein? 

Just because I knew more of the subject matter than they did, did not give them the right to cause disruption in my ordered existence, or to label me with names of such disrepute.  Their attitude scarred me for a very long time – thankfully though, I am well over it and them, by now.

When you think back to your years of schooling and instruction, didn't you find yourself in the same boat?

Weren’t you labelled as some kind of misanthrope, too?

Surely, I couldn’t have been the world’s only disruptive person – there must have been others?

If, by sods law, only fifty percent of us were Einstein’s during those time periods, then surely that presents a lot of very strange teachers out there?

What do you think, or were you little Ms or Mr. Prim Proper?

The Rats Are Coming: The Werewolves Are Here!

Funnily enough years 2011-12 are fast becoming recognised as years of Civil disobedience and, quite naturally, it isn’t our problem. Our problem, looking at it the only way we can, down a very sharp single-edged knife edge, is civil obedience.

Quite naturally, “our problem” is that we’re so obedient, all over the world, that we do it all the time without a second thought.  We do it in the face of poverty, starvation, stupidity, war, and mass cruelty to every living breathing creature on our planet.  And, because there really is no end to our short-sightedness isn’t it time we all awoke from our long slumber and had a good sniff at the stench surrounding us?

We, the obedient ones of society, we the sane, even allow ourselves to be hoodwinked and, we accept it daily, year in year out, without question or pause for thought – from those we put into power to protect us, and most of all, “to serve us.”

Every time we vote for a politician or their party we repeat the process.  We instinctively know that we’re going to get kicked in the teeth or the balls, so why do we do it, and more importantly, why haven’t we done something about it, before now?

We watch televised arguments in progress; we see what a particular party is going to do about something that is irking it.  Oddly enough, no matter how many people will get hurt from the process, isn’t it strange how no one from the other so called “do-gooder” parties stands up to be counted, and says, “Enough is enough, stop this madness, now.  “We” are here to help our countries people, not hinder or hurt them at every turn in the road – and at every other chance we get!”

There is talk of changing the voting system, and yes, it does need changing, it’s so out-dated it belongs in a museum with the other relics of the past, as well as many other “up-and-coming” Grotesque Ogres’ of the future.

Perhaps in the not too distant future the people of a country will have a voice via a voting process.  It isn’t enough to just simply mark a name with an “X” and vote someone into office, we the people need to take the reins and stay in charge – of everything and all party spokespersons.  Every major decision that affects the people should be voted on by the people, not by the politicians who think they have our rights at heart.

This would be a fair and just method of maintaining the status-quo, don’t you think?

Friends Of The Fallen Teddies

It’s amazing what can be discovered during an afternoon’s gentle stroll and, it doesn’t matter which direction you head off into or where you end up, you’ll always find something – if you take the time to look for it.

 It was during one of these afternoon walks that an uncanny discovery was made.  I discovered one of the best-ever places for finding art, and believe it or not, it was in the cemetery!

Over and over again, no matter in which direction I strolled, I witnessed timeless artistic classics.  Headstones that were well over one hundred years of age still bore their handmade art and designs clearly, and they stood proudly with pride of workmanship from a time long gone by!

 It wasn’t just the text that stood out in its gothic lettering; it was the art within the art.  Celtic crosses in vast styles and fashions, angels of every size, cherubs both small and stout, vases, both large and small – everything within eye-shot had stood the test of time, and clearly, each and everyone one of them was still looking very fashionable, despite their tiring agedness!

But it isn’t just the old stuff that catches the eyes; it’s the newer designs too.  More and more headstones are becoming very creative as families and loved ones leave their mark of respect that says  that extra ‘something special’ has come from their minds and from their hearts, for both young and old family members, alike.

The images below are just a sample of some of the art that has been discovered.  Designs engraved in granite that say it all, or will do, for at least a century or more.  Images of pets, horses, jockeys, trucks, lucky horseshoes, and wrestling champions – nothing escapes the imagination of what people obviously want.

Of course, not everything can fall into categories such as the above; nor can they be considered artsy even though they mean just as much, if not more, in terms of endearment.  These other areas are just as meaningful as the art shown, only differently put.  They are what I call: “The Friends of the Fallen Teddies.”

Every visit to those areas brings a heavy heart.  It’s not the age, it’s not the photos of those little angels, it’s not the meaningful messages left behind.  It’s the fallen teddies, the little doggies, the bunny rabbits, and the toys all children love to play with…

Doctor's

It’s terrible; it’s unbelievable; it’s unforgivable…

Ever since my heart attack in 2010 I’ve repeatedly been asked: “Have you stopped smoking, and, are you maintaining a healthy diet?”

It’s obvious that the level of medical complacency I meet head-on defies belief on an almost weekly basis; as if this weren’t the case, there would be something to suggest that even the simplest of rudimentary doctors would have read my notes in discovering the answer they need to know, before asking the question, but nope, not one has had the common-sense to do so.  They just reel off the same two questions, robotically, every time – you must know of this, or have come across it for yourself a family member, or a friend?

I suppose given the option, they’d all blame it on being overworked through extraordinary long hours?

Even stranger is the fact that although they (the doctors and consultants) all complain about the hours they put in, not once do you hear of a complaint where their salaries are concerned, or the fact that they are earning scandalous amounts, year in and year out…  That’s called: “having your cake and eating it, with Royal icing, cherries and candles on top, too!”

Outside of the smoking cessation bit, it’s the same with my diet.  “Are you eating 5 fruits and or Vegetables daily?”  My answer is now always the same.  I say, “Yes.  I’ve actually created a new diet where everything I need is found in the colours of healthy eating.  Even fresh fish and chicken breasts are catered for and have been attributed to white and pink, which is inclusive of all the other colours present and needed.

When they ask: “What is it you’re doing that maintains this eating plan?”

I then explain to them: “I have Red for peppers, Green for veggies, yellow for bananas, Orange for carrots, white for fish, and pink for chicken breast, etc.  And then I show them how all of this is put together.  The looks on their faces, now, defy belief!

Yep, take the water out of them and they show no sense of humour!

Old Politics

Not so long ago, in a country not too far away, perhaps in your part of the world, “Someone” said: ‘give them three strikes and they’re out!’

Who said that, asked? “Present Memory” with difficulty

A person once involved in the main British government, replied “Past Memory”

But, wasn't that someone else’s idea? Enquired “Present Memory” still showings signs of not fully comprehending.

 Yes, answered “Past Memory” It was once used to help reform justice in the United States of America. I believe it was some years ago, although I'm not sure.

So, how come it’s being used in our part of the world, here in England, for possible Social Security Reform against the poor? Asked “Intelligence.”

Because no one has any creativity, these days, sniggered “Plagiarism.”

Whatever happened to “Creativity” and “Originality”? Enquired, “Present Memory.”

They were engaged in a constant duel, until one began cancelling the other out until only one of them remained. It was a fight to the bitter end, answered “Death.”

Which one of them survived? Asked: “Life.”

Neither answered “Death.”

Why, Enquired: “Concern.”

Because the remaining one called “Creativity” had to fight to keep his position open, and he lost. He was too tired to go on. He was being overthrown by cheating at every corner of his existence, “Death” Answered.

Whom did he have to fight that could overcome ‘his’ talent, and make him feel wasted, asked “Intelligence.”

“Plagiarism” sniggered: “Me.”

You see, said “Everyone,” these days it is easier to copy than it is to create. It is easier to destroy than it is to build. As for the hierarchy of society, it is easier to ignore than to aid. It is easier to pass things by and to follow blindly where Angels would fear to tread. It is easier to stab a poor man in the back than it is to defeat a rich man!

That is why, my friends, said “Conscience” nobody gives an iota!

They all sat themselves down in their respective pews of power, on both sides of the house, then said and did nothing – for “Everyone” was too tired at hearing that same old story again!

My Old Man

‘My old man’ is the best in the whole wide world, and, although I am still very young to realize things, I honestly can’t remember a day when he wasn’t there for me.  You see I lost my mom when I was younger, and to this day I have only ever known one parent. I guess you could say I’ve lived a sheltered life, with only a few friends scattered here and there in our neighbourhood.  My best friend “Tom” died some years ago and since then, I’ve been ‘more or less’ a loner.  It might even be said, “Nowadays I prefer my dads company to anyone else.”  I trust him implicitly with my life as no one else will do it for me!

Oh there have been times when I’ve came home all dirty and scruffy looking, but that’s because I’d been playing on wet soil and forgot to watch where I put my paws, resulting in an accident with the ground, as I like to call it.  My dad would see me coming and enter the house, and then he’d whisk me off to the wash basin, where my reward was a wet, soggy, soapy sponge.  I absolutely hated that, but the best part was being rubbed down with a nice warm soft dry towel, which to me, was sheer ecstasy.  Ooh, how that towel made me happy!

Over the past thirteen, almost fourteen years, my dad has taken real good care of me, better than most responsible parents could have, and I’ve wanted for nothing, yet I don't feel spoiled! If my dinner wasn’t to my liking, I’d tell him.  He would then replace it with something else, resulting in two choices for yours truly, which, in my opinion, was “the business.”  After all, if my dad can have a dinner and a sweet, why shouldn’t I have a similar choice, it’s only right and proper, if you see my point!

Of course there have been times when I’ve returned home hurt and crying.  Again, my old man was there, waiting, waiting to see what I had done, or where I’d injured myself.  Sometimes the injury was so minor that all I needed was a pick me up in the shape of a quick wound clean, and, lots of TLC, or tender loving care.  Take it from me; TLC from my old man is the best.  He would take me into the living room by the fire and place me on his lap.  Then with one hand near my injury, his other hand would hold me in place to prevent me from falling.  On these occasions the heat from my dad’s hands was amazing.  I’ve never felt so much heat.  It warms you up from the inside out then sends you into a sound, peaceful sleep.  A little while later, I’d wake up and feel a hundred percent better, with little or no pain at all.  How my dad did this I do not know, but I am grateful that he could.

Naturally, there have been times when I haven’t been quite so lucky!  On those occasions my old man would put in me in the car and drive yours truly straight to the doctor’s for medical attention, but, all I can say about that is, even with a few major mishaps, I’ve come through smelling like roses!  And, it’s all down to him and his caring attitude towards me.  I couldn’t wish for a better person in my life!

Well, in concluding my little story, I feel it’s only fair to mention, finally, that I have an age disorder.  In other words, I age fast!  In your terms I am thirteen years old, in mine I am about eighty years of age, actually older than my old man!  

So, if you haven’t guessed it by now, my name is Mystic, and I am, my old man’s, cat!

Now, I'm open to further offerings from feminine felines, preferably ginger ones, but if none are interested, that's OK.  A bowl of kitty-bits will do, perhaps even tuna fish in brine, if not; thanks for reading: now, kiss my furry butt!