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Truth (with a capital "T") is the elephant, and humanity the blind touching, sniffing, tasting, listening to this big "T" and of course we all rhapsodize a different tale (or tail?), yet in the end the big "T" is still the big "T" and all our various tales describe a tiny bit of that reality, the elephant.
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2 comments:
Does that include bad hallowe'en stories? Cos if so I'm not going near my wardrobe without a baseball bat in hand.
I would think the reality as I have defined or "Haiku'd" would place the "bad halloween stories" as the reality within the mind, subjective, and akin to the mind reality one has when reading fiction (uhh, good fiction), when one's mind 'accepts' the fiction and lives (within the mind) that fiction for a period of time. I think my definition is all inclusive, that being that a rock on the surface of Mars has its own story, of course we have no known intelligence that recorded the "life" of that rock, but I would imagine it would be a lengthy story, one that I'm sure a geologist would rub his hands in glee upon telling, but nevertheless, that rock has a reality and so too a bad halloween story, or a monkey, or a sunspot, or distant galaxy, or three atoms as mated as H2O, or an ocean of like atoms, or Mr. Lifewish cogitating a pithy reply, or me anticipating helping Bro. Clarence this evening in his telescope building, going over in my mind some ideas for a painting on the telescope's exterior, his request, because as he put it, "Yes, the interior of the tube shall be flat black as the instructions, but I bloody well will not paint the exterior a boring white, so my dear brother, will you paint a rather extravagant vision of what a ‘cosmos in a teapot’ would look like?" Of course I accepted his challenge and right now thinking of something with the look of Jose Posada’s “Ballad of the Comet.”
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