the autumn woods - leafless & grass matted - is rife with life, unseen
The Autumn Trail [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: life
Note to Self: A Sonnet
Don't fill your vaults with glowing, shiny stones. It's invitation to all cheats and thieves. Don't know by mind what you don't know by bone. Make sure you've lost before you up and grieve. Then when you grieve, take time to fully feel. Don't let your mind write stories so untrue that they turn melancholy like a wheel that gathers and grows with each turn anew. Be kind and true, but not so kind and true so as to kill with gifts or a mean tongue. Don't do what would be best that you not do, and only sing of those heroes unsung. Oh, every piece of wisdom has its day, so don't hitch so tight that you're led astray.
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BOOK REVIEW: The Meaning of Life: A Very Short Introduction by Terry Eagleton
The Meaning of Life by Terry EagletonMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
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“What is the meaning of life?” This is the question thrown at anyone accused of being a philosopher – professional or lay – though mostly in jest. In the present day, that is. In centuries past, large portions of the population took for granted that it was a question that had a knowable answer (one dictated by religion.) But as that answer became decreasingly satisfying to an increasing portion of the populace, people began to see the question as both fundamentally unanswerable and as a means to chide / test individuals who claimed wisdom or had the claim thrust upon them.
In this concise guide, Eagleton takes on the question, beginning with consideration of whether it is even a sound question. (Or, is it a question like: “What is the meaning of cabbage?” or “What color is a hypothesis?”) After considering many of the problems with the question, from the meaning of “meaning” to the presumptions about what a life has (and what it is) the book also considers some of the post-Nietzschean answers to the question and the challenges that confront them. [One that I hadn’t thought much about criticizes that many of these recent attempts are individualist (i.e. find your own meaning, one consistent with the peculiarities of your own unique life.) Is it reasonable to think that the question can only be answered at the level of granularity of the individual? Maybe, it can only be, but I did appreciate that it gave me something to think about.]
It should be pointed out that Eagleton doesn’t consider himself a philosopher. He’s primarily a critic and English literature professor. This had its advantages. First, Eagleton drew upon works of literature that explore the question, which both made for some interesting insights while also breaking up dense tangles of philosophizing. Second, much of the book deals with linguistic issues. Are the words and grammar of the question, “What is the meaning of life?” useful, and – if so – how do we understand the nature and limits of the question?
I found this book intriguing and provocative. It does have thickets of dense language, but also has its fun moments as well.
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Epicurean Epitaph [Free Verse]
Born from the Black, He wormed through the World. He dove into Death, Vanishing back into the Black.
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Winter Days [Sonnet]
My winter days are vaguely seen from here, but I cannot yet see the very end: only the plain that is the sum of fears, a sum that only living on transcends. The peek I take looks like my days back then. It's not so Batman noir as I've been told. My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen. The act of living life is growing bold. In dreams, that dreadful hour calls to me, and I feign sleep and turn my back on Death. If he can't be seen, maybe he can't lead, and I can soldier on with my next breath. My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen. It's good to gasp every now -n- again.
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Traveler Time [Free Verse]
I’m a traveler —
attached only to the place
tethered to my now.
That’s the only place
that exists in any real sense.
The past has no reality
in the present - not really.
It’s a ghost,
a dim and fuzzy figment.
Only thorns of the moment
can prick me.
Past disasters hold no sway,
&
future calamities are acts
of imagination.
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Schrödinger’s Isle [Blank Verse Sonnet]
The island's rocky columns rise upward. Its gray and green was tiny, but now looms. A giant jutting rock that stands on high, and shades the white sand beach and coral sea. This island will be home from now 'til doom. One's gratitude for fists of sand first swells, but it will crash in time with tedium. Could a sea death beat solitary life? One lives and dies by coconut water -- day after day - week after week, and dreams of company and comfort food, while knowing this is hell and paradise. What prison is this island - place unknown - that like Schrödinger's box shrouds life & death?
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The Melt [Common Meter]
Our lives are blobs that melt away. You may not sense the drips. It happens slowly; you may never hear burbled blips. You may not feel that it's lighter, or that it's lost some girth. Because you've shed it gently each and every day since birth. And when you feel the withering, will you take it as loss? A good loss like becoming lean -- a skimming of the dross? Or like a vicious theft of the best parts of one's being: like time has grabbed the valuables and taken to fleeing? The melt will continue onward until there is no more. So, think yourself experience rich though you are time poor.
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Animosity City [Free Verse]
A place of rage w/ days tricked out into hamster wheel activity, actions of unknown purpose & unknown origin
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City Sonnet
A million lives are packed in this city, and each one struggles to be its own self: the starving, rotund, ugly, and pretty -- the tailored and those who buy off-the-shelf. And everyone fails, yet they all succeed in being different, while being alike. And they all heal, while they also all bleed, and almost all would survive a first strike. Everyone knows someone - just not neighbors. They love to remain enigmatic at home, while transparent with those who share labors -- though some want everyone to leave them alone. A city is a strange place full of strangers, and those who choose it thrive on its dangers.
