I AIN'T ODD. YOU'RE ODD!

Blog number 340 **** 16 November 2009

I'm reading this book, see. Stories about weird happenings. I was going to write some excerpts from it, but upon reflection, what good are oddities that can't be explained, except to realize that Existence is a really, really odd experience? And one can realize that, just by pondering on how a group of cells can let another group of cells see hear and feel, for instance. One doesn't need stories about oddities. One can use ordinary happenings, because if we look deep enough into anything, we will always find that "THAT CAN'T BE!"

I loved the stories about people, ships, airplanes, armies and whole villages disappearing.

Never to be seen again.

The first story was about a man on a farm in Tennessee in 1880 disappearing in front of his two children, his wife, and two men who happened to be passing by in a buggy. But what good is it to know about that incident? Pleasure from reading about it is all one gets from it, I guess. I like to share pleasures I receive, in the expectation that I can also share the pleasure another gets from experiencing what I experience. I get pleasure doubled, tripled, quadrupled, in that way - depending upon how many get pleasure from reading what gave me pleasure reading. Like telling a joke I enjoyed so that others can get the same enjoyment, which gives me a further enjoyment.

Too much explanation?

Too bad.