So why don’t we know that we know everything? Ironically, I
don’t know the answer to that, but maybe it’s the fact that our physical brain –
which is the organ we use to operate memory – is far too small. If we tried to
carry everything in it, maybe we would blow our lids off like a pot of
overheated strawberry jam.
Whatever the answer, the fundamental proposition still
appeals greatly to me. Now, if only I could prove it. If only anybody could
prove it. Why does life and the nature of existence have to be so frustrating
to people like me?
Tomorrow I might make the post about the ghost of Queen Anne
Boleyn saying ‘Jeffrey’ to an American medium. That was creepy, so maybe I will
or maybe I won’t. I don’t know yet. I don’t know anything. (I think I said that
before. It’s my mantra. It’s also getting late and I go to bed early these
days.)
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