Another World is Probable

Sometimes I get in a nihilistic mood and think it doesn’t really matter that I’m alive, that I exist. In the grand scheme of things, I’m a speck, a peon, a flash in the pan of life. Furthermore, I think of myself as expendable and exchangeable in the sense that if I wasn’t here, someone else would accomplish what is required of me; that the universe would work through someone else.

The other day, though, I read something in Richard Tarnas’ book Cosmos and Psyche that had me rethink my perspective.

I have a funny story to share since my last post. I wrote that I have a juicer that’s been languishing on Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist for months. I did all the right things, included all the right keywords, posted the right pictures, and even published the ad at a time when I “should” have received the most traffic. People would message me about it and then disappear. I kept my hopes up, kept renewing the listing, but eventually I just gave up because it had been months and I still had the thing. Weeeeeell. . .

You can’t throw a rock without hearing someone or something say, “Be present. Stay in the moment.” It’s one of the most frequent pieces of advice. There are books about it. Courses. Practices. I, myself, have written about it. I find it’s a lot easier for me to stay in the moment when I enjoy the present moment, but what about when I don’t?

I am charmed by an article I read in the Guardian recently about a fascinating discovery. Scientists detected a natural sugar found in raspberries in an enormous cloud of dust and gas that’s near the heart of the Milky Way. I know I’m the one making this leap and this isn’t how chemistry works, but I imagine that if I were in space, and presuming I wouldn’t freeze to death, I could stick out my tongue and the air would taste faintly like raspberries.

Members of my spiritual community are at the age where they’re starting to die. It seems like every three months or so, someone passes away. Some people I’m closer to than others, but regardless, each death leaves an impact. More in this week's post.

I’m finally watching The Wolf of Wall Street because I’m doing research for my next book. It’s safe to say the movie is a study of excess. The characters want more, more, more. More money, more power, more prestige, more sex, more drugs. They are never satisfied. It’s easy to believe that’s only true for the likes of greedy capitalists, but not so.

I’m still entranced by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass and am thinking about how animacy/animism dovetails with a concept from philosopher Martin Buber. He wrote a book called I and Thou, which I haven’t read, and I only conducted a cursory search on the internet about it, so my apologies to the philosophy nerds who know way more about this than I do.