I am in the process of phasing out my old blog. But before removing it completely, I backed it up and pulled a few to the side that I thought should be made over and brought out for another curtain call.
Why not leave them exactly as they were? Because I’m not exactly as I was. Here’s a short and sweet one.
What is the meaning of life, philosophers ask.
It is rather like asking, what is the meaning of the sound of the violin.
The very question of meaning seems so very meaningless unless we understand that it is only according to our individual perspectives, shaped from the changing position of our conscious minds, that anything has meaning—even our very own lives.
There are 87 different meanings found in every breath we take, in every second of every day, in every one of our thoughts and in every action we take.
We shape the world with our thoughts—and our thoughts, in their turn, shape who we are.
The sound of the violin means one thing to the conductor, another to the lovers in the restaurant, and another to the feisty old grouch who doesn’t like anything. To many others, it has no meaning, at all.
There is meaning in every-thing, and meaning in no-thing. There is a profusion of meaning in every little thing, and no single meaning in any one thing.