Preemptive Apology: I am sorry for the waste of time and words that follows; I've now warned you twice, so please don't gripe if you don't have sense enough to heed my warnings.
I recently made the mistake of sharing one of my posts here with all of my friends on Facebook. I had intended to send it to one person in particular who appreciates the debacle that my quest for the answer to the question, "What's the meaning of life?" has historically been. I envision many scratched heads; one of the head-scratchers commented that he could not understand why I had sent that for his eyes to see. He did not see any point in it.
Must every post on a blog or casual conversation have a point? Does any one of you really expect a point in everything you read from the likes of Captain Corky (or me)? My recollection of the conversations I've had with the good Captain is that ultimately they were all pointless. However thoughtful or profound, meaningful or enlightening they could be, in the end they boiled down to useless gelatinous blobs.
I've "known" since I made my break from the Church at age twelve that the only meaning life really has is that which one assigns it. We're here; we're aware that we're here; we either work within the structure into which we were born, or we break out and seek such structure elsewhere. Or we create our own structure, when we finally admit that it has become impossible to deal in good faith with all the other structures we've ever known. That is where I stand now; but why do I still search for life's meaning beyond me?
Must every life have a meaning? Is life really merely an accident that just happened to happen to happen under unlikely perfect conditions? Wonderful. Back to square one.
I feel sorry for my Facebook friend; how can anyone be so obtuse that he can't fathom even the murky shallows of the mind of Peter? After all, it is simplicity itself...
"...and your point would be..."