So. What do you think?

So.  What do you think?

I’ve never read anywhere that it happens this way, never heard anyone say they think so.  Which doesn’t mean that’s not what happens.

The EEG flattens, the body falls, spasms, something exits.

That thing that exits hangs around out in the ether trying to figure out how it got there for a while.  Then comes a voice:


Looking around isn’t an option.  It’s the first input for a while, so the hanging-around something ponders the question a while before deciding on an answer.

“I sure do like them Dodgers.”

“NO. What do you THINK?”

The hanging -around something senses some urgency in the query.  Something might be important, and the something is beginning to suspect it’s no longer alive.

“I don’t like illegal aliens, Moslems or welfare.  I love God.  I always wanted to travel and wanted my son to play football.”

Long, endless pause.

Finally the hanging-around something begins to wonder whether the voice is still present, waiting.  In life it was always best to come right out with things, so the hanging-around-something tried to turn the situation around.

“What do YOU think?”

The ether vibrates with something akin to an opening door, a shrug in the air, finality.


The door closes.

Leonard Cohen–Everybody Knows

9:30 AM:

Maybe I should have clarified the question from the beginning.

Seems to me the answers we give to life’s crucial questions are almost never truly spontaneous, but also never the product of clear, careful thinking applied inside skulls by our own brain cells.  The body of data we package and label, “What I think” is actually something we had little, or nothing to do with.  Rather than examine the source of how we came to ‘think’ it, we just pick it out of the cosmic data pool we percieve as ‘common sense’ and place it lovingly in the folder of what’s important in our lives without giving it any thought at all.

But because we’ve taken ownership of it, staked out claim to it, assigned a value to it, [all done on autopilot] it’s been elevated to the level of truth.

Now we rub our hands together in satisfaction and pronounce, “I think”

Somewhere, someone, sometime needs to actually do it occasionally.

I happen to believe I ought to be one of them, but I’m lousy at it, falling down on the job.  My gut feel is that probably everyone ought to be one of them, but it’s plain they’re lousy at it too, falling down on the job.

Old Jules

8 responses to “So. What do you think?

  1. Well. Good Morning to you,too. I wanted to cry a river, but my inner voice said, “Don’t be dramatic. Just accept what is. And keep moving.” So, that’s what I shall do.

    This is something… for which I can’t find words. But, I like it. Very much. Putting words together this way, you have fun (hopefully) and we become enlightened. It’s a pretty good deal, I think.

    Leonard is a prophet. If this song wasn’t prescient, I don’t know what is. I have several of his CD’s and every song creates this body of work that’s as good as any metaphysical book out there. Better. I had not listened to this in a long while.

    Thanks for the wake-up call.

  2. Morning Teresa Evangeline. Thanks for the read and comment. Hope your day’s a good one.

    I keep thinking I ought to think something after riding this mudball around the star almost 69 times, but I can’t figure out what it might be I should be thinking. I’m familiar with the range of choices, studied on a lot of them but mostly they come up wanting when viewed from outside looking in.

    Being a homo sapiens sapiens seems to carry a hint I ought to be thinking, that it’s part of the job of work I’ve been assigned, a piece of whatever the reason is that I’m experiencing life as me instead of one of my cats or a coyote.

    But I’m damned if I can come up with anything to think.

  3. I “Think” I understand what you are talking about and if I got it right, I’d like to share with you a poem I read when my Wife was in her final stages with that DAMMED Cancer.

    I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
    spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
    for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
    I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
    of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

    Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone”

    Gone where?

    Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
    hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
    And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

    Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
    And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
    there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
    ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”

    And that is dying…

    Death comes in its own time, in its own way.
    Death is as unique as the individual experiencing it.

    Gone From My Sight
    by Henry Van Dyke

    IF I missed the whole point,forgive me and just delete this.

  4. Morning Ben: Thanks for the visit and the read, taking the trouble to comment.

    I don’t ‘think’ you missed the whole point. I don’t ‘think’ missing the whole point is one of the options. If it were I, and everyone else would probably be in deep doodoo.

    However, I wasn’t wondering about death when I wrote the post. I don’t have a problem with death. It doesn’t seem all that important.

    What I was wondering about was life, which carries the possibility of being important.

  5. There’s a great passage in James Still’s “River of Earth” this calls to mind. Sorry too bad a memory to recall it right now. I’ll look for it.

  6. Cletis: Precisely my point.

    Thanks for the visit and the observation.

  7. Maybe feeling is more truthful than thinking, the unbridled interior reaction. It seems like we smother what we know.

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