The beach reminds us of the inescapable... the inexorable... The constant march of waves, the sand going where it pleases, the annual return of tourists.
I think of power whenever near the ocean... A power beyond our control. I also see a future. a chance for my young species... A doorway to the rest of this world... The other 70%...
We are of water. It is our birthplace. I do not spend much time with it. My body seems ill designed for it. I feel uneasy in its presence. I always have. Whether it be the power or the possibility something always makes me uncomfortable in its embrace. I am an invader. It is an ecosystem in which i have no niche... No place.
I will always think of the beach as a place where everything else is paused so that life can move forward. It is a place where everything is by choice. It moves as slowly or as quickly as we do. It ignores us. It does not ponder our intentions. It reminds us to just be. We all come with our own thoughts, our own goals. The ocean remains the same. We can effect it. Everything effects evrything and no power is absolute, but we will never see our own changes.
And so the ancient one teaches... Of time... Of power... Of desire. The rest is up to us. The ocean doesn't ask where we go from here.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Enlightenment
There is much to say and nothing worth telling. I do not always feel the need to write. I think that perhaps separates me from those we call writers. I write now. It is not the beginning of a great work. It is not a bit of prose that will change the world. It is simply scribbling. It is the realigning of thousands of bits in a patterned way.
Yes, somewhere in the universe a collection of creatures went to work. A collection of projects, plans, and ideas allowed for another set of projects, plans, and ideas. As of this moment, this is where one of these creatures sits.... writing... pushing on a series of buttons to form symbols the other creatures recognize. These buttons are part of a communication device. His body sits some distance above the planet he calls home. He is traveling at a relative velocity many times greater than his physical form is capable.
As he does this, a thought remains held by his consciousness. The thought that the amazement should be shared. The thought that while great members of his species made this moment possible, they brought millions of others with them. Whether they understood it or not, they set the stage to move forward. The elite are not of a single stock or bloodline or group. Those that do not wonder can be the progenitors of those that do. His species ability to adapt had made them what they were. The acceptance of those around him would allow them to take the next step. The things now thought impossible would become reality. The things he now considered a waste of the power they had been given would in some cases lead to greater powers.
He felt now and had always felt that there was no limit to the power his species could wield. He had looked through their histories. Again and again he had found instances where they thought things impossible. Instances where many had thought that things could not be done only to be proven wrong by a few. His species had physical limitations, however, by some great gift or accident they had been released from them. They had been able to leave the physical world. They could envision places where the rules were different. They could dream. They could envision. They could plan. They could then make things real.
The initial vision and the resultant reality did often differ. This was the true beauty of adaptation. The craft this human traveled in was far different than its predecessors. A clear path of iterations could not be calculated from its construction. The original idea had worked but had some limitations. Rather than accept those limitations, members of his species, had reconsidered the original idea. They did this without dismissing the knowledge of their peers. In some cases, conventions and traditions had gotten in their way. However, experiences had always yielded results and it was only the interpretation of those results that need be considered suspect.
His species was relatively young when he was born. The species was an odd predator. It's untold strength appeared in subtle forms in related species. The ability to use tools. The ability to throw objects. Social instincts. When combined they had led to a relatively successful group of species that were not viable prey to other species. Bipedal movement, the opposable thumb, and larger skulls were the last components. The effect of these was monumental. A species able to repel predators became a predator. A species wielded a weapon. The previous adaptation cycle of generational selection for traits was overcome in a moment. A concept was made real. An idea was put into practice. Something that had never been tried before worked. A question was asked. Within a few thousand years, a single species had changed the pace of adaptation.
He now sat thinking of some of its pitfalls. It had let itself go astray several times. It had failed to grasp its own power. It had let itself imagine that adaptation would stop. But thought cannot be limited. The power that each member of his species possessed offered infinite possibilities. His fellows may not wish to wield that power, they could even ignore it, but it existed regardless. A thought. A dream. The next step.
Yes, somewhere in the universe a collection of creatures went to work. A collection of projects, plans, and ideas allowed for another set of projects, plans, and ideas. As of this moment, this is where one of these creatures sits.... writing... pushing on a series of buttons to form symbols the other creatures recognize. These buttons are part of a communication device. His body sits some distance above the planet he calls home. He is traveling at a relative velocity many times greater than his physical form is capable.
As he does this, a thought remains held by his consciousness. The thought that the amazement should be shared. The thought that while great members of his species made this moment possible, they brought millions of others with them. Whether they understood it or not, they set the stage to move forward. The elite are not of a single stock or bloodline or group. Those that do not wonder can be the progenitors of those that do. His species ability to adapt had made them what they were. The acceptance of those around him would allow them to take the next step. The things now thought impossible would become reality. The things he now considered a waste of the power they had been given would in some cases lead to greater powers.
He felt now and had always felt that there was no limit to the power his species could wield. He had looked through their histories. Again and again he had found instances where they thought things impossible. Instances where many had thought that things could not be done only to be proven wrong by a few. His species had physical limitations, however, by some great gift or accident they had been released from them. They had been able to leave the physical world. They could envision places where the rules were different. They could dream. They could envision. They could plan. They could then make things real.
The initial vision and the resultant reality did often differ. This was the true beauty of adaptation. The craft this human traveled in was far different than its predecessors. A clear path of iterations could not be calculated from its construction. The original idea had worked but had some limitations. Rather than accept those limitations, members of his species, had reconsidered the original idea. They did this without dismissing the knowledge of their peers. In some cases, conventions and traditions had gotten in their way. However, experiences had always yielded results and it was only the interpretation of those results that need be considered suspect.
His species was relatively young when he was born. The species was an odd predator. It's untold strength appeared in subtle forms in related species. The ability to use tools. The ability to throw objects. Social instincts. When combined they had led to a relatively successful group of species that were not viable prey to other species. Bipedal movement, the opposable thumb, and larger skulls were the last components. The effect of these was monumental. A species able to repel predators became a predator. A species wielded a weapon. The previous adaptation cycle of generational selection for traits was overcome in a moment. A concept was made real. An idea was put into practice. Something that had never been tried before worked. A question was asked. Within a few thousand years, a single species had changed the pace of adaptation.
He now sat thinking of some of its pitfalls. It had let itself go astray several times. It had failed to grasp its own power. It had let itself imagine that adaptation would stop. But thought cannot be limited. The power that each member of his species possessed offered infinite possibilities. His fellows may not wish to wield that power, they could even ignore it, but it existed regardless. A thought. A dream. The next step.
Monday, June 25, 2012
We were never that young...
I have been writing journals of various types for many years. The format has changed, the message varied. In the end, I simply wish to expound ideas. I have never considered myself skilled in the art. As I generally think in abstracts, my writing follows suit. At many times, I have chosen to analyze a situation and comment not about the particulars, but about the underlying principles. The end result was probably quite transparent to those around me but not necessarily to a complete stranger.
We develop ideas over time regarding past events. In our ancestral past, these ideas become fact as stories were re-told again and again. However, civilization brought record keeping. Old tales were still told, but in many cases an archive could be searched for verification. As a result, less knowledge was lost. It became possible to avoid the effects that time has on perception. A printed page will not tell a different story next month. A photograph may age, but its subject will not.
Whereas I have beliefs regarding the effects of time on me, I can easily consult snapshots from the past and be reconnected with fact.
I have recently been reminded that the boy my mind's eye recalls never existed. A similar creature walked the earth, but his strength and wisdom have been exaggerated over time. The gifts of youth do not fade as quickly as our youth-obsessed society puts forth.
So here is to all the 19-year-old super humans who could choose any dance partner they wanted, had 1% body fat, had the constitution of 10 grown men, and had achieved a level of peace and serenity that would make the gods envious. I will miss you. The photograph has replaced you with someone else entirely. You were not fearless. You were not perfect. You knew little. You were not a finished product. You were a work in progress. The things that negatively effect you now always have. Otherwise, the cliche "Freshman 15" would not be possible.
As I've said many times, life begins at 30. The children that we were simply did not know their limits. That doesn't mean that they didn't have them. I may have forgotten that.
We develop ideas over time regarding past events. In our ancestral past, these ideas become fact as stories were re-told again and again. However, civilization brought record keeping. Old tales were still told, but in many cases an archive could be searched for verification. As a result, less knowledge was lost. It became possible to avoid the effects that time has on perception. A printed page will not tell a different story next month. A photograph may age, but its subject will not.
Whereas I have beliefs regarding the effects of time on me, I can easily consult snapshots from the past and be reconnected with fact.
I have recently been reminded that the boy my mind's eye recalls never existed. A similar creature walked the earth, but his strength and wisdom have been exaggerated over time. The gifts of youth do not fade as quickly as our youth-obsessed society puts forth.
So here is to all the 19-year-old super humans who could choose any dance partner they wanted, had 1% body fat, had the constitution of 10 grown men, and had achieved a level of peace and serenity that would make the gods envious. I will miss you. The photograph has replaced you with someone else entirely. You were not fearless. You were not perfect. You knew little. You were not a finished product. You were a work in progress. The things that negatively effect you now always have. Otherwise, the cliche "Freshman 15" would not be possible.
As I've said many times, life begins at 30. The children that we were simply did not know their limits. That doesn't mean that they didn't have them. I may have forgotten that.
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