Life is all about
Do you ever pause and just wonder what life is really all about? Think about it. Can it just simply be about the things that you and I have planned to do. Our daily, weekly, schedule. Going to work each day. Shopping, buying a new car, Condo, going to see the latest movie, meeting someone special at that party. Going to church each and every Sunday. Following a regular routine?
Life is about you, and it is about me. What are you and I all about? For sure we are here and are living in what we call a universe. There are trees and flowers that surround us. There are birds flying in the sky, and dogs and cats fighting one another.
We just can't stop at what we already know. Yes the world is round. Christopher Columbus discovered for us; and we are made up of billions of tiny cells. We have Anton van Leeuwenhoek discoveries with the use of his microscope in 1673. And if you were to examine any one of those cells under the electron microscope, you will discover a whole little world there. There are answers. Oh yes lots of answers to explain who we are. But my question is what is this life all about?
A certain type of mood comes over me at times, and I have to reach out for the long sought answers to that question. I find that life is about so many things that I can hardy keep both my feet on the ground. And I'm sometimes filled with so much fascination with life that I don't know which way to go. The situation can be so down right mystifying that I just have to say, "I don't know who the hell I am."
I do know that I am Rose Scott, naturally we all know for sure certain things. I know how tall I am; what school I went to; and my age; address, etc. I know that my heart can sometimes be filled with so much joy and happiness inside that I feel I can fly. I truely enjoy a quiet walk alone in a park. I Iike the forest and its' tall old trees. It's whispering birds, streaks of sunlight through the crevices of its leaves and branches. Nothing but the songs of birds and the sound of a running stream can be heard, and creeping sounds of other little animals. Yet, it is so quiet.
I need to say again "I don't know who I am or what I am". That question has followed me all my life ever since I was about 7 or 8 years old. And before that when I was even younger, I remember asking my older sister. "Who made me?" With tack and modesty she answered, "God made you." She knew that the question was lofty and so her answer would have to be lofty as well. Well, at least for the most part she was in the ball park. By the way, sex education was not taught in schools at that time. Next I couldn't resist asking her, "Then who made God?" We briefly went on with: If God made Jesus, who made God. That is where she and I came to an impasse. I think her answer was "no one made God" or. 'God was always here. I could never buy that. I told her straight out, that I couldn't go for that answer. So I asked her again, and again who made God. It was never answered to my satisfaction.
Today the question remains. I still need to know the answers. And I need to know the truth. I am fasinated by this thing of being here and not knowing how or where I come from. And if it was that nothing was here on earth, what would be here? I have a good concept of what nothing would look like. I'm visioning a white cloud all around, space, space, space, everywhere. But that is not the answer. Far from it. Because that space is there and that space is conceptive. That space is an entity and would have to give an account of itself. So what are we doing here. How did all of this come about?
I get the feeling that I am lost, when I cannot conceive of an existence where there is nothing. I'm turning around and around. I cannot conceive nothing. What do you mean nothing? There is always going to be something that I see. I'm turning around and around. Please help me. Where did I come from? Who am I? I need to know who I am? I am not at my typewriter, I am sitting at my computer as I type. It is late. Everything is so quiet. Is there anyone listening?
