Excogitations

Why is the ocean blue?

My mother’s boyfriend asked me this when I was a young child.  And the best I could come up with was that it reflected the sky.  I was like seven.  And he was an asshole.  He was quick to tell me I was wrong and began to showcase his college degree to the approval of my mother.  So why is it blue?  Well technically, I wasn’t all that off.  When the light of the sun hits the water molecules of the ocean they scatter blue light rays which gives the ocean a blue appearance.

Maybe I have him to thank for this stupid need I have to figure out the hows and whys of life.  No, not the good excogitating, but the kind that keeps your eyes fixated on the ceiling for hours long past bedtime as you try to solve the mysteries of life.

I enjoy writing poetry and songs, but I wonder why are my thoughts and poems unique?  What are the possibilities that someone else out of the billions of people in this world is not sitting somewhere wondering the same exact thoughts and writing the same exact words verbatim?  I mean how often do you ever find yourself finishing someone else’s sentences or jinx as you both say the same thing simultaneously?  So why is it that two people couldn’t possibly come up with the same seemingly random poem?  It isn’t that impossible to believe it could happen, is it?  And if that is a possibility, how then do we protect ourselves and our own uniqueness if we are not unique in our thoughts?  It becomes a cycle that has endless possibilities as I begin to mull over how I may not be all that individualized after all.

I love my children, but I could do without their father.  The biological sperm donor that I divorced so long ago.  The very man who isn’t much of a man at all.  If though, I had not had children with him but rather with my current husband, how different would my children have been?  Would they still be girls?  Would they still look like me?  Would they have the personalities they do or would that genetic change be significant enough to change all that they are?

And then I move onto more intense thought processes.

Such as time.  I tend to think of time in the sense of a giant book.  We’re currently on chapter 2009 and so many hundreds of pages in.  And somewhere there is the knowledge, whether yet found or not, to flip those pages to and fro.  And if there is such knowledge, are those pages able to be edited?  And if so, what happens on the page while the editor is back editing another page?  Let’s say the editor is Joe Smith and in January of 2075 he manages to learn how to turn those pages back and forth.  On January 25, 2075 Joe Smith turns the page back to April 16, 1516.  While he is busy editing that page in chapter 1516, what is happening on that page in chapter 2075?

Of course there is the age old question of that tree falling in the deserted forest and whether or not it commences a sound upon doing so if no one is there to hear such noise?  If you recorded the falling but were not there to witness the fall, would the sound be recorded or would it not?

When we die, do we have souls that can physically depart the body and move to any planetary existance, whether it be heaven, hell or purgatory?  And if so, then why must we die to separate the soul from the body if the soul is a living part of us that can make that journey?  If not, then what is the purpose of our existance and the continuation of our species?  If so, what then too is the purpose of our existance on Earth if we are only living a futile time here before an eternal life elsewhere?

And I wonder why I have sleeping issues at times?