Wednesday, January 6, 2010


It's a pity, to me, that before people learn to think philosophically, the world becomes habit. It makes me wonder if people might somehow lose the abilitiy to wonder about the world - the great mystery.

I have always desired an inquiring mind, this paired with an enigmatic world. I don't think I have ever gotten used to the world. Is it habitual? Yes; more or less. I wake up and fall asleep. I attempt to have meals throughout my consciousness. I meet people, maintain employment and have interests. In this sense, I am living. However, I refues to join the apathetic and indifferent. In this sense, I am being.

I have been thinking a great deal about medicine and health lately. Perhaps it is that my dear friend is visually dying in front of me. Perhaps it is some innate reason, already inside of me; my loneliness, maybe. What baffles me most is that there is no satisfactory explanation for it - no assurance that a person who thinks clearly will be able to live contently under the influences of some perscribed stability.

Medicine is perhaps the art respected by all men in all times. When socratic irony fails, it is drugs that work. I don't think of my flaws as mental or physical imbalances, but rather a belief that nature has gone off-course. Health, likewise, requires more than a sound body and a sound mind. It takes moderation of all things, harmony and a healthy lifestyle.

I also consider 'right' and 'wrong' and how these play a role in medicine. I have a pretty good understanding of them by society's definition. If a man lies, cheats, and steals is it right? No, not by society's standards. Is the man happy? I don't know, yet I suppose that he is and therefore pass no judgement. This is much like my inability to speak up in relationships about the parts that may cause my restlessness and insecurities. It may not be healthy, but I think it's habit. People accept the love they think that they deserve.

I suppose I used thought to participate in life. I wonder too much, maybe, about one small detail in great depth until I feel like I comfortably understand it. This letting the quite that results from thought, put things where they're supposed to be. This saves me a great deal of talking aloud with other people. I figure that the world is much too old for us to talk about with our new words anyway. It sets me up for disappointment, so I just assume pretend that my lips are chapped to the point where talking hurts - remaining mute.

This is, perhaps, the same reasoning that differentiates those drugs and medication from god and spirituality. With religion and theory, people observe everything in unison and harmony; with drugs and medication, they become a part of it.

One of my girlfriends told me the other day that I'm "maniacal". I grinned, shrugged and suppose that places me in the lightly sinister category with all other subterraneans with their maniacal overtones, and I don't feel so bad.