I've been thinking -- Oh no! Here we go again . .

Life after stroke
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Thinking about stuff.

A few weeks after a second stroke.
Four years after the first.

As a human being,
like any other, I wonder, I puzzle.
I am dumbfounded by this, whatever it is, that we are a tiny part of.
There seem to be rules, but all rules are broken.
There is great beauty, wonderful experiences, yet,
in a moment it is all reduced to an ugly, terrifying landscape.
Can I comprehend any of this?
We are mere humans.

This, describes it.
Written by Lord Alfred Tennyson
in his 1854 poem,
The Charge of the Light Brigade, about a failed British military action:
“Theirs not to make reply
Theirs not to reason why
Theirs but to do and die."

So why all this doom talk?
Paul, a friend, mentioned how seasonal darkness is approaching.
This will mean restriction, less days in the light.

My humanity tells me no, there will be no darkness.
We have one another.
We light up one anothers’ worlds.
These groups that we have,
that we are a part of,
will sustain us,
carry us on through those inevitable,
mysterious, challenging,
cycles of change.

keep on keepin on

:writing_hand: :smiley: :+1:

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Thank you for the timely reminder :slight_smile:

:pray:

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I look forward to it, I like the distinct splice in the day. It helps me compartmentalise day tasks and night tasks. My only chagrin is because I struggle to wake up, I can get into a pattern of having less hours in the day to get outside things done.

I have not long woken up and cannot comprehend anything until I’ve had at least two coffees. I’m trying my best to help you solve this riddle on my first cup.

There are other mammals that have metacognition, experience and self-recognition but they lack the fundamental word why; interestingly, the word why stems from what and what stems from which, in it’s meaning to explain something. I think language evolved with sense of identity and that’s why we get ourselves in existential pickles as we do.

Nothing like a broken or bent rule. Makes life interesting.

Indeed, as a closet misanthrope, I still drift toward that vital connection that keeps us bonded.

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