Reflective Essays
Meaning, Purpose, and Arriving at Your Own Door
Picasso apparently had this to say about the intertwining of the concepts of “meaning” and “purpose”: “The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.” Except, it seems this may be a misquote; the actual originator of the quote is believed to be the late American psychologist, David Viscott, who wrote in a 1993 book:
The Space In Between
In what feels like recent memory but in fact was ~16 years ago, some friends and I went on a road-trip through the U.S., mainly across the South, meandering up through the Midwest to eventually wind up where my brother was in college at the University of Wisconsin. The trip is seared into my memory, and there are several elements to it that I’ve always …
Finding Sisyphus
For twice trying to cheat death, Sisyphus was condemned by the gods to an eternal punishment; to push a huge boulder up a steep hill, and each time reaching the top, the boulder would roll back down again. Each time, Sisyphus would have to return to the Underworld, and begin his labour again, over and over. Sisyphus was, for Albert Camus, the ultimate “
On Time
There is a constant sense that accompanies the period from late autumn to the deep winter, that of time slowing down. This sense of time dilation is purely imaginary, perceived as a product of my inner seasonal mood; time perception as a reflection of interoceptive awareness.
On Solitude
There is a place that exists which, however chaotic the world or tempestuous the mind, provides a refuge from these roily elements. This place is one of juxtapositions; of our Self in relation to others, of our experience of the outer world of nature in relation to the landscape of our inner world, and of our inward reflection against our external proje…
On Winter
In the sublime, distant dawning of a winters day, I find stillness. There is a time of year that, year after year, I yearn for; the period over Christmas, running into the start of the new year. The world goes quiet. And the swathe of winter landscape extends an invitation inward.
On Spring
Speak to me of the sounds of spring, And I will hear, Birdsong on a still morning, dancing in my ears. Speak to me of the scents of spring, And I will breathe, The fragrant aromatics of fresh cut grass, immersing my olfaction. Speak to me of the sights of spring, And I will see,
On Autumn
No time of year gives rise to seasonal affection more than the enthralling flux of Fall. Autumn calls for contemplation, the bridge from one year to the next. But don’t just walk across; the water is already under and passed. Stop and savour the sights and sounds. The paradox of the autumnal passage is that only this time of year stands still; if only f…
The Memories Within
I wonder how memories can lock themselves within us, beyond now blurry images or fragmented thoughts of what might have been. I mean the memories we can still feel, smell, taste, touch. The sensory encoding of a bygone time, tracing the contours of a life we once knew.
Seeking Silence
The clash of a chaotic mind with a chaotic world obstructs the capacity to find coherence. Recent years seem to have passed at a frantic pace, as if the already unrelenting onslaught of time was accelerated by catastrophe and confinement. I’ve known confinement for a long time. Not of any physical kind, pandemic measures aside, but the self-imposed conf…
Calm After the Storm
It’s sudden. Always. So sudden that it’s hard to tell if there could have been a moment to resist, to control of which direction to take. But there is no control over this hand that reaches into the safety of slumber and hauls me into the tumultuous storm of the nocturnal mind. There are demons to slay. There is no hiding.
Idle Thoughts
The history of human creativity and important breakthroughs, in both the sciences and arts, reveals a consistent theme: that many of these occurred when the originator was not consciously focused on the task. Rather, the "Eureka!" moments happened when their mind was