Ostensible

There once was a young man named Ostensible. This man had always thought the world existed in some sort of obtainable and conquerable state. Thus, acquiring knowledge meant replicating verbatim the wisdom of some well respected elder within a soul that had no business claiming such well formulated ideas. When anyone would propose a deep question, he could respond from rote memory the profound answer and silence the proposer. Unbeknownst to himself, Ostensible was digging a solemn grave where his speculative rationale would soon lie.

One day, Ostensible was doing nothing special in a particularly not-so-special way. A song played in his head with lyrics to which he so often paid no attention. Several words were suddenly realized; words that viciously challenged some of the supposedly known truths the young man so boldly showcased. First reaction was to retort and confidently hush the questioner. To nobody's surprise, the provocationer had no ear to hear the debunkery, leaving Ostensible to his own thoughts with only his own thoughts to reply.

This musical artist, as he most likely considered himself, dared challenge the very concept of truth. There seemed to be some sort of cocky orientation within his statement that bore quite deeply into the supposed foundation that Ostensible proudly boasted.

What could this mean? What might be the proper response? Anger would do no good, for Ostensible desired peace within his mind and resolve within his heart. Ignorance would only postpone the inevitable and cause the question to threateningly loom in the shadows. Fear was of no avail. Ostensible knew that fear only gave birth to an onslaught of other torments. What, then, should he do?

What was truth to this young man? Could it be changed by the words of a doubter? Could it be kept safe solely by one who believes? Ostensible was forced to think about what it was that made truth just that: truthful. So Ostensible thought about such things as this:

Truth could not be something subject to manipulation. Truth had to be equally interwoven in all of humanity in order to differ from opinion. Truth had to come from outside himself. For purpose to exist, truth had to be revealed. For purpose to exist, truth had to be findable. So that truth might be able to be found in many things, it must also trace back to a central point of emanation so that the many truths might be unified in essence.

Ostensible was pleased by his thoughts; they were his own. He knew he had not triumphed or fully procured, but even scratching the surface brought about more gratification than any replication had ever done. The internal interaction with himself felt humanizing. Better yet, the entire process provided the relief of an anxiety that Ostensible had never known to exist. Challenging what had been rigidly held onto made this young man sure of what was eternal and allowed the temporary to melt away. Confidence now resided in knowing how to process big ideas even when rigid outcomes were no longer a result of the exercise. Uncertainty was okay to Ostensible as he finally realized that he was living up to his own name.

from my room

My room has become a biosphere of some sort. I have found that I enjoy not leaving it for hours on end. As I sit here writing, I have successfully completed 13 hours straight in my bed. This sounds quite hermit-like and I realize this, however, I have not had this much alone time in ages.

With the added luxury of a wireless network, I can access the interweb at will. With this chocolate bar with butterfinger pieces, I have no need for other sustenance. I can look out my windows and see the snowy trees and the bright sun that has been so favorably been shining for days on end. There is a dove outside my window puffing itself up so that it doesn't freeze in the single digit temperature. Well, maybe it's a pigeon...I can't tell the difference. I can read, write, sleep, eat, talk, walk, sneeze, freeze, and many other things just from this room.

Most importantly, I can now do some sufficient thinking. I came home from school and found that an abundance of memorabilia from my late uncle jeff had been placed in my room. For once, I am being stirred to consider who this man was and for what reason not only all of this stuff, but my very name was given to me. It might be time for me to look deeper into my past.

Thankfully, my family doesn't yell at me to leave this room because I might then begin to feel bad for resting when resting is really what I believe I need at the moment. Just having a room to call my own and various things to enjoy is a real blessing. I have so much crap...crap that I really like, but don't need. It's nice to appreciate my crap and use it wisely for once rather than feeling bad that I have it. There is a time and place for having and giving and using and I feel at peace with the pace i'm setting right now.

I realize that this is not the most profound of writings, but I am enjoying myself just typing. Words come out of my mouth so fast and so often that it is nice to make them come out more deliberately and gracefully through my hands. That dove is still there and the sun still shines and that kind of stuff makes me smile. The only thing that could make this day better is if orion is unobstructed tonight for the sixth evening in a row. Well, I guess that was an exaggeration because I am sure that other things could happen that would make this day good, but i'm just a big fan of stars and the shapes that we have determined they make in the sky.

The dove just flew away. I'm done writing. Enjoy the sunshine and the stars.