My Tender Lumplings, my world has been shaken. My very sense of reality is in a state of flux. Everything I have ever know, my beliefs and faiths, my hopes and fears, have been ripped from me and twisted into something new and foreign and ugly. Though I am managing to hold on for the moment I don't know how much longer this facade of normalcy will hold.
What has caused this you ask? How could anything shake me, your humble narrator, who has shown nothing though all these years but a seemingly rock steady foundation of character. What could possibly reduce this lighthouse of perception, who's beam of truthful light illuminates the way for wisdom seekers through the rocky shores of deception that the world has laid in their paths. Well, a ship of unsought knowledge has escaped my beam and crashed itself upon my reef.
There was a discussion at work yesterday about astrology. I've never really bought into it much though I admit that I think people born under certain signs can, and do, have similar traits. Not that a Gemini can't have the traits of, say, a Libra. But I understand a lot of what they are saying. Sort of the same with any ancient beliefs, I think they have some good bit and some bits that are just crazy shit. I guess what I'm saying is that I may not buy everything they believe in but I respect the old ways enough not to just write it all off as crap. I mean, the great pyramids are laid out in the form of constellation, they are. And Stonehenge is aligned with the stars. So the ancient peoples believed there was something there. Aliens? Who knows. But back to astrology and birth signs. I learned, or rather, realized through our talk at work a rather disturbing fact. I have know for a long time that my birth sign is Taurus. And Chinese restaurant place mats have been telling me for years that based on the year of my birth my sign is the Rooster.
So, does this mean my entire life has been one long Cock and Bull story?
Have I just been some outlandishly over-exaggerated tale? Is the story of my life the living equivalent of a extravagant fabrication? Not a lie, per se, but a highly embellished form of the truth? I am seriously concerned here. If I am really just the protagonist (or, horror, a bit player?) in someones elaborate fiction, then what is it all for? Do the stars control me? Am I not that master of my own will? My own destiny? Some would say, no, I'm not. These are the people who believe in destiny and fate and all that crap. How THOSE people can even get out of bed in the morning is a mystery to me.
Of course I'm not controlled by the stars or aliens or God or anything else. Do I believe there is a energy, a power, bigger than us all that runs through the fabric of reality and binds us all? The Force, so to speak? Yes, but it can't make you fly or have mind powers, and it doesn't control you. My dearies, we have to make our own fate. We decide our own path and if it is the wrong one, well, we deal with that when it happens. Until next time...
No comments:
Post a Comment