"When the majority of people were living off the land, with little mobility, it was natural to feel at home at certain places. One stayed at home, left home, or went home. But home was not a building. The advertising of homes to be bought is not an offer of a home in the connotation relevant in our analysis. Home was where one belonged. Being “part of myself,” the idea of home delimited an ecological self, rich in internal relations to what is now called environment. But humanity today suffers from a place-corrosive process." — Arne Næss, Ecology of Wisdom (Penguin Modern Classics) (p. 45)
"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." — George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four
Life is a gift — whether we like it or not.
And yet, there's a lingering sense of emptiness: "Is this it?"
Or at least that's how I feel and not just when I'm hit by another hazy funk, black dog or existential reexamination.
Perhaps a better question might be:
what's it (life) all about?
Living up to an ideal?
Being comfortable in our own skin?
Perhaps there is no settled state: first this, then that.
Who really knows?
In the end, all we can do is all we can do and if that means we shoot for the stars (as misguided as that might, in hindsight, appear), then so be it. Arguably it's no one's business, right!
The problem is when someone says the journey, not the destination (i.e. our eventual demise?) is the main event, it sure would be nice, once in a while, to have a better map than the one that's been foisted on us by the neoliberal elite or whoever it is that will one day have to answer for this growth-obsessed world.
Have a fantastic day.
I'm currently reading a book on Deep Ecology; this music is perfect to accompany the message — a very important one to me.
...and I can call time on 2020.
It's been a long, painful and sorrowful year.
I'm not going to speculate about 2021 save to say I'll be hoping for something a little less tawdry.
Love to you all.