Whilst Dee and Jules play videogames downstairs, I sit in a beanbag in my makerspace and contemplate the various hardware projects that I would like to complete over the next couple of years.
Every now and then I stumble across something — or something stumbles across me — that makes me believe that life is more than just a sequence of arbitrary occurences imposed upon me from the outside. Indeed, it seems quite the opposite — that certain things are happening for the very specific purpose of improving my existence in some way. Perhaps this actually applies to everything that happens, but I’m not yet able to see it?
An example: last night I tried writing, but got very little done. I’m trying to write a novel or three, but find that when I’m inspired, I’m not at my desk, and vice-versa. So today I’m browsing the web because, by some chance, I have little to do at work until 1pm, and I find an article describing a simple technique for avoiding writer’s block — writing as an email! This is brilliant, and simple, and obvious, and self-evident … and I never would have thought of it on my own.
(On the other hand, perhaps I already had. It’s altogether possible that this existence, this samsara, is just a dream, a reflection, flawed because I am flawed, the world seen through the unique lens of the distorting ego I call “self”.)