I kinda hate figuring out that hope is the only thing anybody got for sale. The more time that goes by, the more convinced I'm probably right. The implications of being right about hope being the only real commodity being bought and sold is a little disconcerting.
I just read this guy's experience of have a brain concussion during a snowboarding trip. He doesn't find out about it until it screws him up later. He has blood on his brain. The doctors operate, drain the blood, and he gets all better. He discovers the secret of life and that changes everything. Now, he wants to use this experience to offer people hope for a fee. A keep those cards and letters coming sort of "fee". A drop in the bucket, a widow's mite in the collection plate, "... hat's off to the red, white, and blue."
http://www.copyblogger.com/the-secret-of-life/
I began the web search "secret of life" following hearing a statement over TV that said, "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.", and it got stuck in my craw. The PBS channel was in between programs running some of their odious self-promotion and I wasn't paying attention much. I figured they were quoting some famous dead person they were gonna do a feature on later. I wrote it down just so I'd remember it.
I wondered if I could just write the sentence down in the Google entry box and see what popped up. Nothing directly, at least not at the top of the list of links at the top of the results page. The list of links were interesting though. I've never thought of running a search for what people consider to be the secret of life. I think the guy who got a subdural hematoma from a snowboarding accident concluded that if you "do what you love, then the money will come."
I still haven't found the author of the statement I heard on PBS. A script writer may have just made it up because it ostensibly spoke to the occasion. "Enjoying the passage of time" makes sense to me. If anything I do that turns out to be doing what I love, then it's gotta be enjoying the passage of time... so... where's the freaking money?
Nothing that has happen in my life recently has impressed me more than the inner turmoil I endured with having to take care of business when my water pipe from the county water meter to my house got a leak when a tree root expanded around the joint of the pipe. I had to deal with city hall, and the strong impressions I mention above were those of helplessness.
This incident cost me more in the long run than having my state taxes audited a while back, but having to recognize that I was helpless as an individual against the power of the state was the same feeling. My brother thought I oughta at least write a letter to the editor. It might make me feel better. I decided to just write a check and get them off my back. I still have to pay the meter fee because I own the property.
These events seem to fit real good in the pigeon hole with death and taxes. That seems to be what my life is about that no secret I've read about on the internet can intervene for me with. I've been diagnosed with an incurable disease that's well-known for inducing serious shape-shifting physical pain, and I'm being pestered by the power of the state for what resolves to "Give us your money or we'll take your life."
The fancy carriage that took me to the big dance is turning back into a pumpkin before it returns me to my wino's hootch. I shouldn't have believed so strongly in fairy tales. Nobody knows.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
