I am thankful for the ability to learn, but to what end?
IS the March of the Penguins a metaphor for mankind?
ARE WE fated by our genes and early experiences to unroll our lives to the very end? And why do we hate that notion so? Because we would not matter, then? Do the penguins matter? Perhaps it is all in the service of Emergence. Survival is the drive, emergence mans the tiller. But what of war and pestilence? What of chaos, or chance…or pandemics?
Eisley writes, in the Invisible Pyramid, “Beginning on some winter night the snow will fall steadily for a thousand years and hush in its falling the spore cities whose seed has flown. The delicate traceries of the frost will slowly dim the glass in observatories and all will be as it had been before the virus wakened. The long trail of Halley’s comet, once more returning will pass like a ghostly matchflame over the unwatched grave of the cities. This has always been their end, whether in the snow or in the sand.”
There I go, running my readers away for a fun read. Some of my motivation I think is due to the beauty of the words. I’ve also been reading more on mycelium (in fungi) and have more questions than answers, as usual. I don’t much care for some of the answers I’ve been getting recently.