Concussion
So. Sitting here after been sent home after a mild concussion gets me thinking.
Actually, everything sets me thinking.. but this time.. I'm thinking slower.. I'm very aware I'm thinking slower. Like a variety of cabbage.
Which is ironic in itself as a brain can look a little like a variety of cabbage.
There I am. Cabbage.
So as this cabbage sat in A&E for 3 and a half hours (Take a moment to imagine him sitting there. Remember, the walls have no windows) with the ability to read seemingly stripped from him like the ability to wield more then one weapon is continually stripped from Link at the beginning of every single Zelda game, I thought: Superstition. Superstition. (I thought other things as well of course, it was a long wait)
How superstitious am I? Quite I think. Though I don't like it. I put too much faith in psychics. Though I don't. I read horoscopes a little too eagerly, though I know to my scientific logical core that its bumkum. Yet. Superstition is ingrained in me. Often, in my day, I'll stop, look up to the blue, gray or bricky surface about my head, and share the joke of my existence with the sky. And Usually, theres this little part of me, this innocent, Irish, ex alter boy part of me that believes someone is listening. Perhaps my dad, perhaps ET, perhaps Marley.. Or even some giant inconceivable thing.. we're atoms in its brain or something.. inconceivable remember.
The thing is I dislike religion.. in history, Crusades, Inquisition, War etc.. but not for what it can do for people on a purely personal level... I guess. I mean if you don't believe, is it so important to make everyone understand that theres nothing but this? Is this a goal? Why should it bother anyone that someone else believes... why should it bother me that I did believe, quite without qualm or conscious question.. yet it does. We all want to be right, but do we really have to convince others that we are, even if its against their hopes of happiness?
Yes, your loved one is dead and you're never going to see them again, but is it really so important for you to know this? Whats wrong with ignorance? Even if it is willful?
So anyway, today, during my brief time at work, I did not dress as a priest, as I had when (in an ironic twist) a man dressed as the Easter Bunny bashed through a door, and the door into my head. Was I smote for Blasphemy? Of course not. Was I smote for pushing it a little? Of course not. Yet in this little battery of a head of mine, little neutrons of possibility, the little bits that come into action when I read an Agatha Cristie puzzled the happenings along a neural road into the abject world of the ridiculous.. But was it able to traverse that path BECAUSE I had a stack of paving stones, somewhere in my head, that sparkled with an innocent belief in something I don't believe in?? Hmm? Well?? Oh Questioning cabbage.. Who knows.
And then I talked to the Doctor, and you know what we talked about? The Turin Shroud, an obvious fake, too new, yet people cling onto it because they like the idea of Jesus looking like Cesare Borgia (Yes he did, the man was a tyrant and they based Jesus on him, LOOK IT UP), and possessing magic painterly sweat, even though we know its too young a shroud to have ever sat on the face of the Christ.. Scientifically.. the evidence proves it.. and yet, people don't want it proved. So they believe anyway.
And it annoys me.
And yet...
Does a little forgotten corner of my mind want to believe? Is it fighting against the weight of nigh on the entirety of my intellect, my experience? My education? Hmmm?
Or is that little part of my mind simply being perverse?
Either way. Wish I'd been able to read Today.
And Oh how I hate Cabbages
Actually, everything sets me thinking.. but this time.. I'm thinking slower.. I'm very aware I'm thinking slower. Like a variety of cabbage.
Which is ironic in itself as a brain can look a little like a variety of cabbage.
There I am. Cabbage.
So as this cabbage sat in A&E for 3 and a half hours (Take a moment to imagine him sitting there. Remember, the walls have no windows) with the ability to read seemingly stripped from him like the ability to wield more then one weapon is continually stripped from Link at the beginning of every single Zelda game, I thought: Superstition. Superstition. (I thought other things as well of course, it was a long wait)
How superstitious am I? Quite I think. Though I don't like it. I put too much faith in psychics. Though I don't. I read horoscopes a little too eagerly, though I know to my scientific logical core that its bumkum. Yet. Superstition is ingrained in me. Often, in my day, I'll stop, look up to the blue, gray or bricky surface about my head, and share the joke of my existence with the sky. And Usually, theres this little part of me, this innocent, Irish, ex alter boy part of me that believes someone is listening. Perhaps my dad, perhaps ET, perhaps Marley.. Or even some giant inconceivable thing.. we're atoms in its brain or something.. inconceivable remember.
The thing is I dislike religion.. in history, Crusades, Inquisition, War etc.. but not for what it can do for people on a purely personal level... I guess. I mean if you don't believe, is it so important to make everyone understand that theres nothing but this? Is this a goal? Why should it bother anyone that someone else believes... why should it bother me that I did believe, quite without qualm or conscious question.. yet it does. We all want to be right, but do we really have to convince others that we are, even if its against their hopes of happiness?
Yes, your loved one is dead and you're never going to see them again, but is it really so important for you to know this? Whats wrong with ignorance? Even if it is willful?
So anyway, today, during my brief time at work, I did not dress as a priest, as I had when (in an ironic twist) a man dressed as the Easter Bunny bashed through a door, and the door into my head. Was I smote for Blasphemy? Of course not. Was I smote for pushing it a little? Of course not. Yet in this little battery of a head of mine, little neutrons of possibility, the little bits that come into action when I read an Agatha Cristie puzzled the happenings along a neural road into the abject world of the ridiculous.. But was it able to traverse that path BECAUSE I had a stack of paving stones, somewhere in my head, that sparkled with an innocent belief in something I don't believe in?? Hmm? Well?? Oh Questioning cabbage.. Who knows.
And then I talked to the Doctor, and you know what we talked about? The Turin Shroud, an obvious fake, too new, yet people cling onto it because they like the idea of Jesus looking like Cesare Borgia (Yes he did, the man was a tyrant and they based Jesus on him, LOOK IT UP), and possessing magic painterly sweat, even though we know its too young a shroud to have ever sat on the face of the Christ.. Scientifically.. the evidence proves it.. and yet, people don't want it proved. So they believe anyway.
And it annoys me.
And yet...
Does a little forgotten corner of my mind want to believe? Is it fighting against the weight of nigh on the entirety of my intellect, my experience? My education? Hmmm?
Or is that little part of my mind simply being perverse?
Either way. Wish I'd been able to read Today.
And Oh how I hate Cabbages
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