“Infinite dreams I can’t deny them, infinity is hard to comprehend…”
Taken from Infinite Dreams; Iron Maiden.
-------------
…Somehow
The earth moves in grandeur,
Yet, I cannot step over the rain puddle
Outside my front door.
Taken from Concentric Images of Reality; EjG
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Said Solomon to the scribe, “show me your definition of infinity, and I will show you the limitations of your brain that trivializes incomprehension down to a miniscule thought of completeness. You cannot show, nor fully describe, infinity.”
And the scribe said, “infinity is nothing but a theoretical concept set forth by man’s god. The universe has an end, it has to, as it is expanding. In order to expand, you have to have an end. This cannot be infinity.”
“Man’s god?” shouted Solomon. “Man can no more describe God, as he can describe air. They both exist, unable to see either does not disprove their existence. The contents of a vacuum and a balloon are identical in appearance, and yet you cannot see either of them.”
“And yet one has substance and the other does not,” noted the scribe.
Solomon went on, “Religion is a philosophy, we all hold a piece of understanding to this philosophy. We all hold onto a piece of the puzzle that defines existence as we know it. At the intersection of all theological debate comes truth and understanding.”
At this the scribe became irritated, “You closed-minded, educated fool, you are avoiding the concept of infinity. Your theological dissertations on God and theology do not prove infinity. The universe has an end, as I said, it is expanding. It is finite, though in a broader sense than we have come to understand.”
“Yes, as you stated, it is expanding, but into what?” said Solomon, questioning as a professor should question. “There has to be an emptiness, a void, for the universe to expand. It is expanding into infinity, and infinity has no limits, nothing. If the universe could not expand, I could accept your arguments, but this is not the case. There is a vastness, an infinity, into which all enter.”
Solomon went on to explain, “The limitlessness of infinity drives madness into the sane, as they spew inane attempts of explanation. You cannot explain the endlessness of time, the limitlessness of numbers, nor can you explain infinity.”
The scribe, noting frustrations, exclaimed, “There is a philosophical component of logic that notes that ‘to explain what something is, is to explain what it is not.’ I can explain what infinity is not. Do you disagree that I can explain what it is not?”
“No, I do not disagree,” said Solomon.
“Exactly,” stated the scribe, “death teaches us where a piece of time ends, a cave teaches us the limits space can have imposed upon it, eternal love dies, and the scientists have both theorized and calculated the end of the universe. These are all ends, of which infinity cannot have. So, knowing these, I know they are not infinity, therefore, the opposite is what infinity can be. The opposite has described what infinity is by what it is not.”
“And yet your examples are trite, and infinity is anything but trite,” said Solomon. “I can tell you that a tree is not water, but I have done no more to explain the tree, than I have done to disprove water. We are not arguing over the existence of infinity, but rather the ability to explain it so mankind can conceptualize. We cannot, which is what drives the madness to the sane.”
“Infinity reaches beyond the universe,” Solomon further explained. “It describes the heavens, it describes our philosophy, it examines our limitations, and it exposes us for the fools we are.”
And at that, they both sat and stared at each other in silence. The impasse was not only deafening, but futile. EjG
-------
Dudley Dee
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Friday, April 22, 2005
The Road
The road is nothing
but a dream now.
And I wake
to the silence
of morning,
and a curiosity
of today’s reality.
There is nothing
but mindless drivel
of wasted discussions
from a period
of waking hours
that should have been spent
chasing the end of the rainbow,
chasing God,
and chasing the sunset.
EjG
but a dream now.
And I wake
to the silence
of morning,
and a curiosity
of today’s reality.
There is nothing
but mindless drivel
of wasted discussions
from a period
of waking hours
that should have been spent
chasing the end of the rainbow,
chasing God,
and chasing the sunset.
EjG
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Kerouac...he didn't mention Saginaw
Not sure if I’ve lost my tongue. It has been over a week since I first began this project, and I already lost my words. Oh, they’re floating around in my head in non-systematic orders of confusion, but I lost the ability to harness them. At least for a while. Here it goes, once again…
---
I really dislike Saginaw. That’s not a revelation to anyone who knows me. The whole area is stifling, at points. Though I should not cast blame for my loss of words, I do think it’s this area. People are often shallow here, they have to be, in order to survive.
Midwestern sensibility combined with no frills sense of being. Good people, we Midwesterners are, but we’re boring. God-fearing, hard workers that see no reason to waste time on the arts and frivolities of free expression.
And I am struggling with this boredom. Overcoming the monotony of late winter/early spring is a mind draining experimentation in self-reliant psychotherapy. It’s early April, so the seasons go back and forth between winter and spring.
So, I grabbed last month’s edition of Bike magazine off the coffee table and read about Virgin, Utah; thumbing through some other articles as well.
Guess it’s a search for something beyond here. A search beyond the monotony of flat land, beyond people without the sense of individuality, beyond the knuckle-dragging kids who are too afraid to leave home for fear they’d be less then their pitiful existence is today.
I miss Kentucky, I miss Tennessee, and I miss Colorado. Bike, it made me think beyond here, biking does this.
Mountain biking offers you a chance to become one with a machine, and nature. It offers you a chance to experience love and fear. It takes you beyond the comfort of normalcy.
Becoming one with the machine is knowing how you handle it, and how it handles you. Unless you ride, this may not make sense. Most Midwesterners cannot understand this. My bike is a part of me when I ride. So much so that I fear replacing my friend of 14-plus years (that’s over 140 people years).
It’s a no frills, no suspension, Trek that has taken me through the single tracks in several states, down the Rockies, through the Midwest ravines, and along the Gulf shoreline (the salt and sand really mess with the drivetrain). But, its simplicity is its beauty and intrigue. It’s like Willie Nelson’s or Stevie Ray Vaughn’s guitar: beaten, old, true, and yet a part of them. My bike is a part of me when on the trail.
Now the purists would degrade this machine, overlooking its purpose, that purpose being to connect my soul to nature. Not by taming the trails with high speeds and daring jumps (though I like a bit of speed periodically), but by allowing me to experience the trail, the beauty, and the serenity. We can at least obtain serenity in this part of the country.
Maybe you can’t in Saginaw proper, but what city can you find serenity within? I have no love for cities. Respect and fear, yes, but not love. They engulf your soul, they enhance the Mega Mart mentality, they force conformity, and they fuel the struggle for power.
So tonight, amidst cool temperatures, I opened my front window to let both the night air and the night sounds within.
Secretly, I think it was to let my soul roam for a bit.
It searches for God, poetry, the understanding of philosophy, nature, the trail, and the bike that allows you to chase all the above.
When your soul is restless, there is only so much time you can quell it’s freedom. My wife longs for California, and I for Colorado. Interestingly enough, neither of us longs for Saginaw. Only Simon and Garfunkel wrote seriously of Saginaw; and they were leaving it.
The trail calls me, the bike calls me, the water calls me. Crossroads: “the road less traveled” calls my soul. And, it puts “A Little Mud on the Tires.”
Kerouac’s Book of Blues, partially read, sits by my side, as does this month’s edition of Bike, not yet read. I’m searching for Kerouac's San Francisco (fear and respect, not love), searching for the mountains, and searching for my soul.
Delusions of a nomad never seeks out forgiveness, only truth, silence, and serenity. EjG
---
I really dislike Saginaw. That’s not a revelation to anyone who knows me. The whole area is stifling, at points. Though I should not cast blame for my loss of words, I do think it’s this area. People are often shallow here, they have to be, in order to survive.
Midwestern sensibility combined with no frills sense of being. Good people, we Midwesterners are, but we’re boring. God-fearing, hard workers that see no reason to waste time on the arts and frivolities of free expression.
And I am struggling with this boredom. Overcoming the monotony of late winter/early spring is a mind draining experimentation in self-reliant psychotherapy. It’s early April, so the seasons go back and forth between winter and spring.
So, I grabbed last month’s edition of Bike magazine off the coffee table and read about Virgin, Utah; thumbing through some other articles as well.
Guess it’s a search for something beyond here. A search beyond the monotony of flat land, beyond people without the sense of individuality, beyond the knuckle-dragging kids who are too afraid to leave home for fear they’d be less then their pitiful existence is today.
I miss Kentucky, I miss Tennessee, and I miss Colorado. Bike, it made me think beyond here, biking does this.
Mountain biking offers you a chance to become one with a machine, and nature. It offers you a chance to experience love and fear. It takes you beyond the comfort of normalcy.
Becoming one with the machine is knowing how you handle it, and how it handles you. Unless you ride, this may not make sense. Most Midwesterners cannot understand this. My bike is a part of me when I ride. So much so that I fear replacing my friend of 14-plus years (that’s over 140 people years).
It’s a no frills, no suspension, Trek that has taken me through the single tracks in several states, down the Rockies, through the Midwest ravines, and along the Gulf shoreline (the salt and sand really mess with the drivetrain). But, its simplicity is its beauty and intrigue. It’s like Willie Nelson’s or Stevie Ray Vaughn’s guitar: beaten, old, true, and yet a part of them. My bike is a part of me when on the trail.
Now the purists would degrade this machine, overlooking its purpose, that purpose being to connect my soul to nature. Not by taming the trails with high speeds and daring jumps (though I like a bit of speed periodically), but by allowing me to experience the trail, the beauty, and the serenity. We can at least obtain serenity in this part of the country.
Maybe you can’t in Saginaw proper, but what city can you find serenity within? I have no love for cities. Respect and fear, yes, but not love. They engulf your soul, they enhance the Mega Mart mentality, they force conformity, and they fuel the struggle for power.
So tonight, amidst cool temperatures, I opened my front window to let both the night air and the night sounds within.
Secretly, I think it was to let my soul roam for a bit.
It searches for God, poetry, the understanding of philosophy, nature, the trail, and the bike that allows you to chase all the above.
When your soul is restless, there is only so much time you can quell it’s freedom. My wife longs for California, and I for Colorado. Interestingly enough, neither of us longs for Saginaw. Only Simon and Garfunkel wrote seriously of Saginaw; and they were leaving it.
The trail calls me, the bike calls me, the water calls me. Crossroads: “the road less traveled” calls my soul. And, it puts “A Little Mud on the Tires.”
Kerouac’s Book of Blues, partially read, sits by my side, as does this month’s edition of Bike, not yet read. I’m searching for Kerouac's San Francisco (fear and respect, not love), searching for the mountains, and searching for my soul.
Delusions of a nomad never seeks out forgiveness, only truth, silence, and serenity. EjG
Friday, April 01, 2005
Country Song
Country Song
The road, it travels into infinity,
and I long to seek out its end.
There are so many ways to travel home,
yet I lost the path to get there.
Country song,
the melody signifies the
The road, it travels into infinity,
and I long to seek out its end.
There are so many ways to travel home,
yet I lost the path to get there.
Country song,
the melody signifies the
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