Blogging reminds me of Shakespeare’s lines from The Tempest:
...We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
Here one minute, gone the next. How mind-bogglingly insignificant even the ‘greatest’ of human lives is in the general scheme of things. It’s only when you look beyond the general scheme of things that any notion of significance even begins to have meaning.
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2 comments:
Yes ... but while we are here, we make meaningful connections with others, and for the moments that we are alive, these events, these connections, make our life full and colorful, even if for just moments at a time. In the grand scheme of things, in the scheme of time, true, how big are our lives? When I die, my memories of my grandfather will go with me, but while I am alive he will live with me always and make my life better just for having had known him.
I find this fascinating and true:
"The Enchantment of Art: as part of the enchantment of experience." -by Duncan Phillips.
"Some tone on the hills or the sea is choicer than the rest. Some mood of passion or insight or intellectual excitement is irresistibly real to us for that moment only ... we are all condemned to death, with a sort of indefinite reprieve. We have our interval and then our place knows us no more. Some spend this interval in listlessness - others in high passion - the wisest, at least, of the children of men, in art and song. For art comes to us professing frankly to give nothing but the highest quality to our moments as they pass, and simply for those moments' sake."
It's a complex issue. I was just musing in an idle moment, and it was seen as an antidote to the ego-obsession so prevelant in modern culture.
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