As long as I can remember I have pondered, considered, debated and meandered around in my own head. Possibly even enough that I feel there is enough swirling  in there that I can tip the pot and share some of these thoughts; with you all, even, amazing, I know.

Now these thoughts, ideas, dreams, and imaginings are my own and should always be taken as something to chew, but in the end, it’s only to add to your own swirling pot. Maybe I’ll inspire some others to boil over.

“To be, or not to be”. A great playwright forged those words into history, these words are held as high as any throughout human history.

To be what? How bizarre of a question, obviously rhetorical – I know. Of course I have taken it out of context and twisted it to my own selfish desires to speak of the absurdity of life. But it is a question that makes me really think. To be what? I firmly believe this question comes with a choice, a choice about what it is that you are. A body? A soul? An amazing collection of star dust? A mind? I have thought about this question a lot, not about what Shakespeare intended, but of what it is to be – alive. I’m not sure I have found the answer yet.

Enough of all that before it gets too heavy

I plan to fill this blog with the over spilling of a mind that has been left alone too much. Some of it may be shocking, some of it may have terrible grammar, all of it, I hope, will make you think.

And that shall be my intro

 

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One thought on “Purpose: A direction with intent

  1. Did you figure out what he meant by saying “to be. . .”
    I think I know. . Or should I say I believe I know.
    We are Be-ings. Not Do-ings.
    Your analytical mind wishes to understand. But this isn’t of the domain of the mind. Switch your mind off.
    Think to your zen garden in the shower. This is being.
    This is the epitome of what it means to be.

    To be isn’t to think. To be, is to silence the mind. The mind is the biggest distraction and barrier in being.

    To be, is to listen – hear the birds, the traffic, the refrigerator humming, the neighbour digging with his shovel, the snoring dog.
    It is to feel, I feel the skirt around my waist, the breeze on my face, the soft sheet under my back, my breath as I inhale and exhale.

    To be, is precisely that. To be.

    Just, Be.

    Simple. But oh so difficult.

    (My mind the do-er says silly Beth, it’s much more than that. Sshhh, mind – don’t distract. I’m being. )

    Like

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