I saw, today, a sundog...

and just a few minutes ago, I saw a shooting star... Yes, yes, I know that the sundog was an optical effect caused by ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere, and I know that the shooting star was really a piece of space dust, probably no bigger than a grain of sand, burning up in the upper regions of that same atmosphere, but, maybe I don't want to know that. Maybe that's what's wrong with everyone these days; maybe we know too much. Perhaps we've been so long covered with the veil of knowing that we're afraid to peek out from behind it now and then, to take things as they are, without pondering the truth to some infinite degree. We've killed wonder, you know. Bloody well slaughtered it in the name of knowledge and fact and truth. We've driven ourselves crazy with the need to know what the reason is for everything around us, made it some sort of bizarre quest, like some crazed prospector chasing the legend of some long lost gem of unequaled quality and worth, and when it's been uncovered and brought to the light, half of it's value is gone, because the mystery of it has been cast aside for the reality of the prize. Such it is with most everything these days, at least in my view. I sit outside on such a rare night as this is, one where I can enjoy the stars of the winter sky without freezing and, while the beauty of it is not lost on me, it is diminished by my knowing that they're not just stars anymore, they're spinning balls of burning hydrogen and helium and oxygen and what ever else might be in their particular mix, consuming themselves as they travel ever outward from the center of the bold event that spawned them. I don't want to know that, not really. I just want to see them as stars. Twinkling, mysterious lights in the night sky, familiar in the patterns that can be traced to form the constellations, Aries the ram, the twins Gemini, Orion the mighty hunter, holding up the golden fleece in triumph of finding his prize... That is the prize I seek; But, as it is with all things, once you learn them, you just can't unlearn them. Like I've said before, you can't unread a book. Remember it or not, every word, every picture it painted in your mind, every emotion, has been cataloged away in your brain, to come out now and then when the mood strikes it, to remind you of itself; such it is with knowledge. Once you know something, you know it, whether you want to or not. It changes the very way you perceive things, it changes your very self. It doesn't ever go away and no matter how hard you try to not think about it, if you know something, well, you just know it.
Now, please don't get me wrong, there is nothing bad about knowledge, it's just that, in my own humble opinion, of course, that it might be better if it were metered out according to the path in life you might choose to tread. Most of us aren't given that choice. We have it hammered into our heads that we need to know everything we can possibly learn in order to succeed, to get that job that brings in the bucks to allow us to surround ourselves with things so you can, well, so you can enjoy life... And that very knowledge is what diminishes the wonder of the life we're supposed to enjoy... Sort of ironic, isn't it, in it's own sick little way.
But, then again, I suppose you couldn't decide if you really wanted to know something or not without learning it and then, well, it's too late. Quite the conundrum, isn't it?
Well, one thing I know is that I do have a tendency to ramble on about things when I'm under the influence of alcohol and pain killers, as I am right now. I'm not quite sure if any of this makes sense right now. Actually, I don't care, it's just gut spilling on a Saturday night, as I am wont to do at times.
Think about it though; I'm sure that there's things in your life that aren't quite as wonderful as they used to be, just because you know a little too much about them.
Perhaps I shall spend the rest of this night sitting in the candle lit manor and listening to some music. But not Mozart. As much as I love him, I've had my fill of him recently, this month being the 250th anniversary of his birth, the classical radio stations have been just awash with his works and, believe me, he was prolific... It's been nice to hear things that I haven't had the opportunity to hear before, but like it goes sometimes, too much of a good thing is always too much, no matter how good. Perhaps I shall dredge through the dreaded New Age section of the music library tonight, put on something nice and shallow and spacey and fade away into the dark along with the tapers in the candelabras in the parlor and dining hall, as they will, most certainly, do...
I bid thee fair eve, fellow wanderers. Fare thee well.
what say you..?


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