With Tornado and SAQ
With Tornado and SAQ
"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone."
I Googled myself and found my old Myspace. I dusted it off and started to skim the pages. In it I found a Blog post of a Story I was given a long time ago. Gives quite the perspective on things. I found a site with the story on it, click the button below to read it.
By: Andy Weir
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They
didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside,
but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If
it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had. You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An into lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little cliche?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
((any and all credit to this story goes to the writer from the link below))
"I have seen untold numbers of movies and forgotten most of them, I hope, but I remember those worth remembering, and they are all on the same shelf in my mind,"
--Ebert wrote in his 2011 memoir, "Life Itself."
Roger Ebert, one of the many people I took advice from, a great man in film critic history, and one of the most humble of the celebrities died yesterday at 70 years old. The cause from what I can tell is from the cancer he has been fighting for a while. The cancer had already claimed his voice box, but it couldn’t come close to claiming his voice. Through the power of the internet and social media, he continued to do what many people strive to do today, which is speaking their mind. I remember as a child watching the show, “Siskle and Ebert” and becoming intrigued in the arguments, debates, and different views of these two men. Thumbs up, thumbs down, sometimes both, the show added on to an already fast building curiosity I had about movies. I always wanted to know how movies were made, the meaning behind the stories, the politics of it, and of course how it was seen in the
public eye. Ebert was the people critic. Not a faceless newspaper article, or a
voice in the air of advertising, he was a fan. He was with you, right there in
the theatre seat watching the movie with you. After it was finished, he spoke
his mind, compelled you to speak yours, and then strengthened his foot hold in
his opinion, and defended it, then implored you to defend yours. Opinion is
what makes art unique, different, and is what brings the raw material out of
the shadows of the minds of young people, like myself, and creates a brand new
world of art that may have never existed hadn’t not been for your personal
opinion, and what you feel the way art should be.
I rummaged thru the stings of the World Wide Web and couldn’t find the quote that I had read in an MSN article by Ebert. Forgive my paraphrasing, but he spoke of movies as the new art form of the times. And many people look at movies as mere entertainment tools. They may be that, but to some, like myself, it is a way of life. It is a painting in motion, it is a look into the mind of a writer, and it is the look
into the soul of a person with a story to tell. Film is truly the modern day of
art, and Ebert treated it that way. If he had seen a film that metaphorically
looked like the roof of the Sistine Chapel, he praised it, and spread the word
to others so that they may gaze at its cinematic wonderment. If he saw a film
that was a quick, rushed, cheap piece of refrigerator art, he called it out for
what it was, and defended himself for it. What I believe made Ebert so unique
was that he didn’t just look at the Sistine’s or Fridge arts of the top film
competitors, he often looked to the bottom of the pile of cinematographers, and
saw their potential for what it was. Often helping them crawl their way to the
top of the pile where they may have had no chance of doing so.
A man truly after my own
heart, Robert Ebert lived, breathed, and ate criticism. Every film trailer we
see and deem “thumbs up, or down”, every game we play and judge cool or not,
every sports team, writer, singer, or person of leadership, we will forever
critique what they do. So in a sense, we all have a little bit of Roger Ebert in
Rest in peace Mr. Ebert,
thank you for your words of wisdom, your unique way of seeing the world, and
most importantly, your opinion.
“See you at the movies…”
This is Word Vomit. Invited by an awesome friend of mine, I am going to, as the site title states, Vomit my mind on this blog. Any and all that shall be shared, will be shared.