I saw posted on someone’s Facebook page an article discussing how rife with delusion we are as a society, filled with fantasy fuelled notions which skew our perceptions in regard to everything from spirituality to how we interact with the technological advancements of the era we find ourselves in (some more acutely than others), and how these delusions are pretty much akin to psychoses.
Today I decided to take refuge in baking, a measured (pardon the pun) form of escapism. I altered the Nestlé toll house cookie recipe by adding cocoa, Kahlua and a bit of cream into the usual mix. The cookies ended up being a little drier than I was aiming for, but had the chocolate-y-ness I had intended. The next attempt will increase the fat in the recipe to accommodate for the extra cacao. I think next time some macadamia nuts inserted into the cookies would be good, too.
In any case when I shared this photo of the cookie with a friend I got a two sentence reaction: Hedonist! I approve!
This of course got me thinking thus:
Really? By virtue of a recipe alteration I can be distilled down to a single word… I’m a bit disappointed… but maybe we are in fact truly that simple.
The other day during my wanderings through Chapters I ran across a couple of new magazines… one was $13 the other $11… both more than I could afford (because words and pictures may feed the soul but they do a poor job of nourishing the body and filling the belly).
I felt really deprived at not being able to get them… is that sad? I really wanted them and by the time I’ll be able to go back and go about getting them, they will probably be gone. That’s kind of been the theme of my life.
I am having moments of morbid thought… I keep wondering what the purpose of my life is in that if it were to end tomorrow and I knew it, would I feel satisfied with how I had lived it (no longer having the option or the luxury of time to change it)?
I try to imagine how you (“you” being the people that I know personally or peripherally) would feel if that was in fact the case… would you have done anything differently, in hindsight, if you knew how numbered our (or rather MY) days were? Would you have engaged differently? Perhaps more meaningfully? Taken the time to connect instead of putting it off for another time? Said you cared and how much?
Would I make different choices today in that context?
What’s important to me?
What is enough?
What is a life well lived?
What is it to live?
What is left once we are no longer there to occupy our place, our space, in this world?
I remember just how quickly my mother’s existence faded from the physical world, and minus a handful of physical things, all that was left of her were the memories we each carried within us, and how vastly they differed, person to person.
Is that enough of a legacy?
What memories am I leaving behind me?
Are my impressions and notions of the memories others have of me accurate?
How can I know?
I loved my mother but she scarred me in ways I can’t even begin to fully comprehend, and though she didn’t do any of it on purpose (in fact I’m sure her aim was quite the opposite), how I feel when I think about her is largely affected by that. I still love her, despite spending so much of my life coming to terms with what her hands moulded me into.
So is perception reality, then? Does it matter what the truth is – the truth that we each carry within ourselves about who we believe ourselves to be – when it is each individual’s impression of what the truth was that ends up what endures of us?
Well… I guess my nap is over… time to start on dinner… salmon in the oven, with asparagus… and mashed potatoes.