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Sometimes, though the bigger picture is only to show us how lost we really are; that the forest was much more formidable than just the trees in front of us. A perspective of this magnitude can cause use to withdraw back into our local copse and be content being just a little lost.

One of the widest, best told perspectives is the Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan. To see a picture of everything we know, everything save the sun, moon and stars, as barely a point of light amid the enveloping black of nothing is both a humbling and depressing perspective. It is an actual picture of of every forest, path through that every single person has ever seen or for at least as for as long as I live will ever see.

How do we reconcile with the pettiness of our daily lives with this picture? How do we rationalize and of the things we intentionally do wrong when we realize how tenuous our grasp upon the universe is? We can't. Or at least there's nothing from this perspective I can tell you that would justify the injustices when there are real, cosmic issues and decision to be made.

So, we explain it away, "That picture lacks detail" we say. "Its not so simple" we tell ourselves. And soon we have lost the perspective, happy to return to our own view of the tree and forget how insurmountable the whole forest is.

The End.
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 18 Mar 2008 06:45:04 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=9
It could be described as something desirable to behold. If that is the case, then beauty is a very personal subjective thing, unique, though often similar with those of similar perspectives.

What if one's perspective were wholy objective. Where preference and predjudice were not factors in intrest. Could such a person know beauty? Could beauty be based on relevance and needed function? Could beauty be an accepted common ideology, rather than a personal taste? Would a working telephone be inherently more beautiful than any painting? Would Stephen Hawking's latest theory be hung in every girl's locker?

But no one is completely objective. And yet we form societal standards for beauty despite its individual and dynamic nature. Defining this and then attempting to find or be it consumes the lives of many. The Counting Crows mention this breifly in Mr. Jones:

She dances while his father plays guitar
She's suddenly beautiful
We all want something beautiful
I wish I was beautiful

So, what's the point of this long meandering post? I guess it could be that social norms of beauty make as much sense as social norms of what flavor of kool-aid is better (orange). It could mean, beauty is an illusion that blinds us and the pursuit of or the pursuit to become beatiful makes lose our way sometimes. But I think the point is we must each find beauty individually, and allow others to do the same.

]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Fri, 14 Apr 2006 06:59:54 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=8
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 30 Aug 2005 06:43:02 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=7
I guess the problem is akin to why some people like pickled herring and why I wonder how can people put something cold, slimy and smells vaguely like formaldehyde in their mouth... on purpose. I could say that people who like pickled herring are monsters, and rules should be put in place to prevent the consumption an sale of the vile stuff.

The pro-herring activists would say, "How dare you oppress us! We put up with your lousy liverwurst!"

To which I reply, "My liverwurst don't stink like your dead fish, fishy!" And then the whole think devolves into a reality series.

The thing so easily forgotten in the ensuing war between us and them (and forgotten almost all the time anyway), is that so passionate we feel in our conviction that we only hear that what supports our claim or worsens our opponents'. We forgot how to listen, we for get to rationalize, we forget that the person on the other side of that picket fence thinks a guy getting hit in the crotch with a football is funny too.

Maybe if we spent more time trying to figure out exactly why they see it their way rather than trying to make them see it our way, we'd really understand each other rather than assuming what the other is thinking. Maybe those pickled fish eaters really aren't just showing off and really do like something I don't and aren't just trying to make me gag... Maybe my perspective of them is what is really skewed. I dunno, it can't hurt to openly try to understand....
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 15 Mar 2005 07:58:14 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=6
Look at the optimist, one who sees the best light in everthing. Can they ever be pleasantly surprised? Sure, if they aren't particularily imaginative. I say, someone who expects the world to be like heaven, will know only disappointment.

The pessimist, on the other hand, expects everything to go wrong. When things don't work out as they expect, they really can't be disappointed, can they?

What if someone didn't expect anything at all? What if they didn't look for an outcome, and when one happened didn't see it as good or bad? If the presumption that there was very little to presume, and that one's happiness didn't depend on their previous outlook or of their future outlook, couldn't that person be free to be as happy in the best and worst cases? That is, if the current moment was seen, not as an outcome to and event that could end up well or poor, but merely an extension of the last moment, what then?

Tomorrow is not that day after today, tomorrow is what is planned for by sacrificing today.
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 28 Dec 2004 04:48:14 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=5
Once the notion hits that the ground is approaching rapidly, we panic. We do everything in our power to stop or slow the inevitable meeting of ourselves with a 6 ft deep crater. We flap our arms, yell and kick with all our futile might. Then we pull the cord for our "chute" and quickly understand that its not slowing our grim descent to our liking.

All this time, we've forgotten the beginning of the fall where we enjoyed the taste of the cool air rushing past, the tiny green fields that stretch off into the misty horizon and the other fallers around us that have been there since we jumped. Sure we still know all those things are there, but we've forgotten to enjoy them.

It isn't until we accept that this crazy ride has a tragic end, that we can get back to appreciating the fall. Too often this acceptance doesn't happen until the leaves of the trees are whizzing past and the scenery is obscurred by the low altitude. The ground at that point is too big to ignore and we just wait for the drop to finish wishing that we had spent more time looking around and laughing when we could.

Perhaps that's why we have these false parachutes with us. They lets us push the concern to the back of our minds a little longer. Maybe if we were allowed to accept the idea that this one fall is all we have from the beginning, we could appreciate it more, take in the sights with fewer distractions and breath easier despite knowing that doom is waiting below. Would we happier knowing the outcome? Could we handle it?

I hope so.
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 06 Jul 2004 16:14:32 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=4
The answer may very well destroy you for all you know. You may discover something so profound that life would become meaningless. What if there was no meaning, no purpose no reason for us to be?

What if the the mystery was nothing more than that? The purpose to find the purpose. If that were the case you're search would be over and knowing that, meaning would cease. The very search to understand life was that which made living worth living. An epiphany that strikes you hard and fast. The pinnacle of mysteries solved not with science or religion, but with a single meek revelation.

Is life worth continuing? Its meaningless you tell yourself, since its purpose has ended. If the point of life is to find its reason for being, then its purpose has been served and ending it is the only next step.

Then reality sets in. That's ridiculous, you say. It isn't that simple. There is love and war and living to be done. All of that is purpose. So, you buy that box of mini-corn dogs and pop in some Jackie Chan, and you go on searching for the reason, that elusive answer that will explain everything. Perpetuating the purpose.

The End
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Fri, 07 Nov 2003 05:48:47 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=3
But the question has really made me think. What is it that I do the remaining 3 hours of the day I'm not diligently maintaining this site? So, I logged my typical day so that I could find out.

Log:
9:30am Started log.
9:31am Completed first entry in log.
9:32am Wondered why it took me a whole minute to write "9:30am Started Log."
9:35am Wondered if its appropriate to log what I wonder.
10:40am Decided that I will no longer log thoughts, wonders or decisions.
11:29pm Or log entries about logging.
2:00am Went to bed.

I may have spent a little too much time creating the log, but I hope it gives people an insight of just dedicated I am to the process. Tomorrow I plan on reviewing and updating the log!

The End.
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Tue, 04 Nov 2003 06:58:54 +0100 http://convolutedwoolymuffins.com//tiki-view_blog_post.php?blogId=2&postId=2
So, there you are standing in the middle of a pitch black, eerily silent room. The chills going up and down you spine as you recall the story of the girl whose bed room "came alive" one night. Your ears strain for something to listen to. You make you're way to the bed room door because you know you have a flash light somewhere in the next room. As you touch the doorknob the ceiling errupts with the echoey sounds of pounding and running footsteps. Your heart jumps and you feel warm panic race through you despite the knowledge that the hound above sometimes does that.

You race out of the room, smashing your foot against the table. Cursing you find your flashlight and turn it on. Simultaneously, like a turbine starting, the whir of your dewlling comes back alive. From the living room however, you hear the demonic dart board chime with its electronic horns playing the opening tune of the Kentucky Derby. It is then you know real fear, the possessed dart board has come back to life.

Unplugging the cursed thing in the same manner you'd remove a dead severed hand from your shoulder. You run away and jump into bed pulling the covers over your head comforted by the sound of hard drives thrashing.

So, if all that did happen to you, you wouldn't feel like a big weanie/fraidy cat would you? I mean, I am writing this-- er I mean even if you were to write a blog about it afterward? Right?

The End.
]]> Martha <&#109;&#97;&#114;&#116;&#104;&#97;&#64;&#99;&#111;&#110;&#118;&#111;&#108;&#117;&#116;&#101;&#100;&#119;&#111;&#111;&#108;&#121;&#109;&#117;&#102;&#102;&#105;&#110;&#115;&#46;&#99;&#111;&#109;> Fri, 31 Oct 2003 07:32:01 +0100