When is the last time you took a risk? Getting out of bed. (Every action or enacted decision generates some risk.)
How did it work out? I’m still alive, but the day is still young.
When is the last time you took a risk? Getting out of bed. (Every action or enacted decision generates some risk.)
How did it work out? I’m still alive, but the day is still young.
What’s something you would attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail.
Cast a magic spell? Everything I know of in this world comes with no such guarantee — at least anything worth one’s time. It’d be better to spend one’s time learning to thrive under uncertainty.
Lost
in a foggy wood.
all the trees alike,
no long view,
no hint of the sun's position...
(or existence.)
just the vertical stripes of
straight pinetree trunks --
like the bars
of the cell
of a giant --
laid against a fluffy white
backdrop.
I can scurry between
the bars, like a mouse,
but am still lost
and still caged.
Crisis arises
From the depths
Of intended perfection --
"Intended" because all
We can ever do is
Aim & release.
It is more an act of luck
To hit the bullseye
Than to miss.
Bullseyes don't occur because
Of a lack of adverse forces
At work.
They occur because of some
Fortuitous balancing
Of adverse forces.
Live Like A Philosopher: What the Ancient Greeks and Romans Can Teach Us About Living a Happy Life by Gregory LopezScarecrow, n. - that which exists
solely to evoke fear.
There are so many scarecrows:
global - the end of the world
as we know it.
societal - the end of the tribe
as we know it.
individual - scarecrows of the soul.
Scarecrows lead us into the worst
versions of ourselves:
The one who's stressed, and mean
because of it.
The one who imagines conspiracy
around every corner.
The one who sees threat in every
change & in every difference.
The one who wants an orderly world
of people just like themselves -
familiar, cozy, and lacking surprises.
Scarecrows even march us off to war,
and war should be the scariest state
imaginable --
death doled out on a random basis.
War should be the scariest, but terrible certainties
spur less fear than any old uncertainty.
I think,
but without Descartes’ insistence that I am.
In fact, the more I think, the less confident I am about knowing what “being” means.
I think — without knowing,
and recognize the hazard of that condition.
It’s what got Socrates killed.
A smart person who claims to know may raise hackles,
but is dismissed as arrogant.
It’s the smart person who admits he doesn’t know…
[let’s hope I’m not wrongly classed among them]
… that’s the one who arouses murderous intent.
For what hope exists for priests, professors, or politicians —
or any of the many oracles of our age —
when the most astute confess that uncertainty is inescapable?
What airy sands are our castles built upon?
And, yet, I think.