Wondering
I have questions, lots of questions; about where we were or what we were before we were born, where do we go, if we go anyplace, when we die, is there a God or do we imagine this universe, ourselves, and our lives. These are only a few questions, all unanswerable. When I look at the sky at night I see thousands of stars and planets. Can there be no life on any of them? Are there UFOs? Does extra sensory perception exist? Where do thoughts come from. No scientist has yet to find a thought in the brain.
When I think I have an answer to any of these questions I find there is still another question to be answered. My mind cannot accept that there is no answer, yet philosophers have tried for centuries to find some.
Like are we imagining our lives and everything in them. If we accept that we do, then who or what led us to imagine them? What are we who can imagine? We must be some entity.
I do believe that something cannot become nothing. If we humans die and are real then we must continue to be in some form after death. I'm just supposing. I'm thinking about it.
Just Can't Connect
I tried to connect to my website for Webador and received this message: Can't connect Page reset Error 405. I did all kinds of things to find out what error 405 was and who reset it. After going to Microsoft and downloading a program that was way over my head, I went through my setting and I don't know much about the settings. I tried any way and got a better understanding of settings but didn't find the problem. I tried Webador contact and help, but they were able to get the web page on their computers so couldn't find the problem.
I tried unloading the web page and reloading it. I tried a dozen easy things without success. I tried using someone else's cell phone, putting their connection in my computer and dialed up my web page. Voila! It appeared. This indicated that it wasn't my computer blocking it. I live in a community home and have my computer set up through their internet. I finally found a message on another browser that told me the web page was reset by an app Weblocker by the home.
Now I could not get into my web site and had paid for it. I was not happy. Then I got the idea to try getting my web page on another cell phone, an old one someone gave me. At first it didn't come up, but then a notice from Now appeared and said I could reach my web site for a miner fee, a really low fee. I went for it and got into the site on the old cell phone.
Now have one more problem. On my page data on Webador I cannot get my site to come up either to read it as a blog or home. I cannot read any comments. I'm not sure what to do about that but something will pop up.
Still Wondering
I said I have questions and now I want to expand on some of those questions. Where did I come from? I know about the birds and bees, but I mean where did I, the person with my personality, come from. Where was I if I was anybody or anything before I was I. A baby is born with an empty brain. No experience is yet in it. The only thing a baby has except his body, is his personality. But where does it come from? Genetics surely plays a part in it, but that doesn't account for much in my mind. Where in the genetics are all those traits stored so that they can develop in us. Where was I and where were those genetics before I was born? If two eggs, a sperm and an egg, develop into a baby and if each of those carries half a personality that still doesn't explain the thoughts, the unconscious and conscious thoughts, that come to us. I come to the conclusion that I carry the genes of all my fathers and mothers ancestors and that I am a mixture of every person on either side who ever lived. No wonder I am a mixed up soul.
Yet I am none of them. And my thoughts are unique to me. Where do those thoughts that make up me come from? Was I a being before I developed into a baby? Were those thoughts alive before I was alive. Why do some artists and musicians know how before they should be able to know how?
I've confused myself with questions.
i
More Words on Confusion
I have satisfied myself on the physical aspects of life, but not the soul. Where do the thoughts come from? Apart from ideas coming from genetics, still where do thoughts come from? is there a universal soul that generates thoughts in general and then personal so that we connect universally. People through the ages act the same, have the same emotional upsets and joys. They were people just like I am. They haven't evolved thought wise. They remained the same through the ages. We can identify emotions through body actions and facial expressions they are so universal. If we each act individually with9ut some connection, we could not identify these emotions this way. They would be too divergent. So where do they come from?
Imagining
What if all that seems real is a figment of our imagination
I imagine reality. Does that sound like an oxymoron. It is and it is not. We come to life from nothing except two pieces of -what, an egg and a sperm so small they can't be seen by the naked eye. Where do we end up? As a small bit of dirt. My husband who was six three in height, when cremated occupied a vase about eight inches around and eight inches tall. He has no mind any longer, at least no mind associated with the box of dirt. So was he a figment of imagination or was he real? If either, someone somewhere, or something somewhere created the imagination to form his reality. Therenis something somewhere that occupies some kind of space that brings on creation. Who or what created us either in imagination or in reality?
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Geta the Cat
I want to teach Greta, my cat to use a halter and leash so she can go on a trip with I and the dog, Houdi. I think it will be difficult. I buy the items from the animal supply store and take them home to introduce them to her.
I am right about Greta and the halter. At home I lovingly pick up Greta and carry her to the couch trying to fool her with kindness. I pet her a bit preparing her. Cats cannot be prepared. The moment my hand reaches out for the halter and my other hand gathers a bit of fur and loose skin at the neck, Greta turns herself inside out. I swear she does. Her butt is more in my hand than her head. Her back feet are pushing on my forearm. Her front feet rake my other arm. I hold her straight out in the air, but how do you get a halter over her head when her head is how I’m holding her? My hand is in the way.
Perhaps I should take this cat and turn her over to the animal shelter. Cats don’t travel well. Maybe I’ll go through all this and when the car starts moving, Greta will become crazed, flying all over inside the car. I had a friend who had that happen with her cat, and she stopped on the freeway, opened the door, and the cat shot out like lightening to disappear forever. Greta has not even been in a car except for the few minutes two years ago when she came to my home.
Later we tried again, but this time I tried pulling the halter up from the lower end, the wrong way. It was halfway up when she bolted. She had it off by the time she streaked across the kitchen. The next time I put her inside my sweatshirt while I was wearing it. That worked with a bit of a fight and my tummy being scratched. Once the halter was on, Greta calmed down and let me carry her to the kitchen. I set her on the floor where she lay down and played dead.
“Oh, come on,” I say to her. “You’re not hurt.”
I get some cat treats and place them just out of reach so she will have to move to get them. She doesn’t move.
“Are you paralyzed,” I say. “You can’t move. Come on Houdi. Let’s go watch our program.”
We leave her lying on her belly on the kitchen floor.
We watch our program, Houdi carefully balanced on my legs while I sit in the chair. When it is over we go into the kitchen. The halter is on the floor without cat anywhere. The kitty treats are gone. Right. Greta has made her statement. She does not understand that I will win.
The halter is finally on Greta, and she has not managed to get it off, though when she comes from beneath the house where she is hiding, the halter looks increasingly ratty like she has been chewing on it. Late in the evening, she relents and comes inside to sleep with us, but if I try to catch her during the day she runs. She is slippery.
One clear morning while I sit on the front doorstep with a cup of coffee, Greta sidles up to me, pressing the side of her body against mine. I absently begin to pet her. This would be a good time to make a test run. I take her up and go to the car. She doesn’t do anything, doesn’t go crazy or fly about the car. She sits on my shoulder and cries the entire time.
Feeling flush with my small success, when we get back, I take her to the yard and attach the leash to the collar. I’ve been trying to coax her to walk around on the leash but so far haven’t succeeded. She immediately lies down and gives me that defiant look. I tug on the leash, not so gently anymore since this is the umpteenth try, but I do beg, talk to her softly, offer kitty treats. Houdi stands by watching. She looks at us like we are idiots. Remains inert. Finally, I pull on the leash and drag her along the ground a bit, her neck stretched out, her back legs elongated. It just makes her angrier with me, and I haven’t the heart to scrape her belly on the rough ground.
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