And, so what's the point?

Keeping the phone down, after a long debate/discussion with Phaedrus on the rapidly changing nature of technology, fashions, tastes, needs and the increased disposability of goods, the gear wheels of my brain and mind still kept whirring, refusing to die down. Much like a ceiling fan running even after being switched off, assisted by some invisible, yet gusty gale.

Quite winded, (no pun intended), my thoughts turned to the fact of Need and Want and Action. Why do we want so much, when do do not really need it? Why do we want to be rich, and famous and beautiful and knowledgeable and well read and learned and well-quoted and published and cited and married and virile and fertile and wise and charitable and philantropic and powerful and amiable and loved and loving?
Eventually we shall die. Then, what's the point?

It's not like we shall be around to see if our great grand kid turns out be an Einstien (and even then, what's the point?), validating our choice of genes, or that that 2 room shed turned into a 5 floor hospital (all those patients eventually die too), thanks to all the funds we raised.

This is not to say that I am turning into some pessimistic deadwood or a selfish prick. I feel attached to my loved ones and charitable to my fellowmen, and I want to listen to music and admire a painting. I feel the Need to Do and Act, and Want to do it. I worry about parents, pets, paise and publications (and that's not an exhaustive list). All a race against very finite time, with a very different finish line, one which does not have "the other side", to look back and exalt. It's amazing, isn't it, that we do what we do so that we can hopefully feel elated for that very short period between having run much of the race and now seeing the finish line? Of course, people might disagree and say, well, the joy and fun is in the running, but its not like you can reflect nostalgically on it once you are done with it, coz heck, you are not around! If finally it is dust to dust, then , again, what's the point?

Very literally, as Tennyson wrote, Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.

Death is not supposed to be dark and ugly and like a black hole. But it sure seems so.

I promise my next post will be more cheerful!