On The Edge of The World

I don't aim to polarise when I write. My intention is not to inflame passions or raise anger. I might shine a light on some social disturbance or other occasionally, but I like to add perspective, some balance when I do.

Most of the time, anyway. At least that's what I think I do.

Regardless, I don't allow things to get too heated around here, and if you've been reading me for a while you know that.

You see, most of us are polarised, and we live in a polarised society.

We are on the edge of the world – on the edge of something. Sometimes we approach the middle but only if we are hungry, thirsty, tired, angry or horny.

The enemy is on the other edge, and meeting them in the middle is not really a runner under conditions where our basic human needs have been met.

On the edge of the world things are simple.

There are rules so that you don't fall off or be eaten up by some scary monster. Follow the rules and you'll do alright, or maybe you won't, but at least it's better than being over there with them.

If only you could get rid of them 🤔

Often in my mind, I take a trip. Into outer space I go and hover for a while above the earth. It's not a trip, rather it's “ping” and I'm there.

I realise how utterly insane and primitive we are.

To believe for a second that we are significant and important, that the ideas that polarise us are relevant, and that I, the idea that seems to live inside this bag of skin I call me matters one damn little bit, seems naive.

I listen to the conversation going on inside my skull and I wonder is it anything more than just an echo of something ultimately unsubstantial. A reverberation of a primordial tuning fork hit against an imaginary wall.

A ghost of little significance playing out here on the edge of everything.

And then the remarkable contemplation arises that all of it, the whole shebang, could be me.

Or maybe not.

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