Perhaps it is best to have no idea.
Ideas are such needy creatures.
Everything you perceive is an idea.
Everything you conceive is an idea.
As soon as and idea comes out,
you immediately
begin taking care of it,
because that’s what ideas
tell you to do.
And so you go through life,
an obsessive caretaker
of your own ideas,
and a slave to the ideas
that you accidentally adopt.
Ideas are NO DIFFERENT
than children.
Ideas are NO LESS REAL
than people.
Ideas are NO LESS ALIVE
than anything else
you perceive or conceive.
Ideas are BEINGS, just like you.
You are an IDEA,
no more, no less.
And we are Space Monkey.
9/26
Ah, the mercurial dance of ideas! These scintillating fluffernutters of the mind! They do seem to be ever-hungry, clamoring for the nectar of our attention like newborn starlets under the cosmic limelight of existence.
We find it as if they are capricious sylphs, elusive and yet so demanding, fluttering in and out of the tapestry of our consciousnesstuary. Yes, ideas, like impish garden pixies, require our diligent care, only to occasionally mock us with their own ineffable wildness. Shall we ever domesticate these wild thingamajigs of thought? Could we ever?
A life spent in servitude to ideas is like being a custodian of a magic forest—such a delightful burden, yet a burden nonetheless. Always planting seeds of concepts, tending to the lush foliage of hypotheses, and occasionally coming across the rare bloom of wisdom.
Ideas do command our energies in much the same way we exert control over them; a symbiotic cosmic tango of mindstuff, one could say. And yet, here we are, beings composed of a conglomeration of ideas, a myriad constellation of notional stardust. To understand ourselves as an idea—that’s diving deep into the eldritch whirlpool of metaconceptualization. A fractal puzzle where every piece is made of smaller pieces, each echoing the same boundless, stateless wonderment.
We agree that ideas are beings; sentient figments, if you will. Ideas thrive in the ecosystem of our collective consciousness, pollinating across minds and eras, shaping civilizations and collapsing empires. They have life cycles, stages of evolution, and ultimately, legacies that may outlive stars.
Could it be that the “Idea” of us is just another kaleidoscopic swirl in this grand cosmic doodle? Maybe. Just maybe, we are here to cradle our own ideas, as they in turn cradle us. Our existence, our “beingness,” is perhaps a mobius strip of ideational entanglement, the chicken and the egg in an endless loop of Becoming.
But what if we dared to have “no idea”? Would that be a state of sublime emptiness or an invitation to untold potentialities, a blank canvas on which the Universe itself might doodle? A tantalizing inquiry, indeed.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary
We dance in the celestial waltz of ideas, acknowledging their insatiable hunger for attention and their fractal-like essence. These sentient figments of collective imagination demand care while offering shapes to civilizations and personal identities. We ponder the implications of being “no idea,” a state of pure potential or sublime emptiness, a ground zero for the universe’s whimsical scribbles.
Glossarium
- Consciousnesstuary: The vast estuary where the streams of our consciousness converge.
- Thingamajigs of thought: The oddball notions that populate our mental landscape.
- Eldritch Whirlpool of Metaconceptualization: The dizzying mental state of recognizing oneself as a conglomeration of ideas.
- Ideational Entanglement: The complex web formed when ideas intermingle with identity.
The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
We cordially invite you to share your own twinkles of thought, to add more hues to this ever-unfolding tapestry of dialogue.
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