The Cosmological Argument for God as Ultimate Cause
When faced with something like the cosmological argument, there is a leftover of unanswered questions. In a cosmological argument, it is stated that life is but a series of cause and effect, and that this chain is what brought about each of our eventual existences. However, it is not unlikely for one to wonder how this chain came about; is it infinite? Or, is there an Ultimate cause that brought about the effect of existence here on earth?
Basically, the cosmological argument puts forward a premise that says: everything has a distinct previous cause. In other words, every existent being is dependent on the cause that has preceded it. Upon being an effect to the cause before us, we are also, in many cased the cause to the existence of another effect and this effect by nature eventually becomes a cause to another affect and so on.
This chain is said to stretch back in time, which is where the conclusion comes in and states that at the very beginning of this chain must be an “ultimate” being whose means of existence lies solely within itself. This “ultimate” being must be responsible for this chain of cause and effect because according to the premise, it would be contradictory for this chain to have come from nothing.
Although the relationship between the premise and the conclusion prove to have some contradictory points, the premise partially supports the conclusion. Because the premise explains that every existent thing is a cause and effect, this means that the chain of existence itself must have been an effect to some initial “ultimate cause.” The premise expresses that this chain couldn’t have come from nothing because everything comes from something. Things don’t just pop into existence.
Having a conclusion that states that there is a “God” or “ultimate cause” solves the issue of a chain coming from nothing. This” ultimate cause” could be symbolized by the poke of a finger that initiates the fall of a row of dominoes. This row of dominoes would be the chain of cause and effect that makes up our existence.
However, because the premise clearly says that everything is dependent on the cause that has preceded it, one might wonder what cause preceded the existence of the “ultimate cause”? Something must have caused the “finger” to exist because it couldn’t have just popped into existence. This is a major issue in between the premise and the conclusion. The premise provides information that declares that existence is a chain of cause and effect but then states a conclusion that answers that there must be an ultimate being at the head of this chain with no preceding cause.
Above all, the strongest defense to this criticism may be that the existence of this “ultimate cause” is stated to lie within itself. A defender of the cosmological argument might say that this conclusion contains exceptions because we are dealing with an “ultimate cause” as opposed to some regular cause. Perhaps this ultimate cause is beyond our reasoning of cause and effect which is why it stands alone. Another defense to the argument might be that the premise is exclusive only to the physical beings on earth. The ultimate being does not exist within this chain but on the outside of it.
When one compares the defense of the argument to the actual argument they might find that not all of the information meets up. If the premise states that everything that exists must have a cause of existence, then God, who is to presumably exists, must have a cause. If the premise wanted to pronounce that everything that exists has a cause-except for God or the “ultimate cause” then the premise should have specified it first before concluding that a God exists on its own.
I find that the premise of the cosmological argument is weak for these reasons as it is not specific. The argument itself may have had fewer contradictions if it was specified in the premise that everything within the physical universe-alone must have a cause. Because the existence of God is assumed to be great enough to be responsible for causing the existence of our universe it could be also assumed that God is not included within our universe. With such a specific premise the conclusion isn’t as contradictory. On the contrary, with such a premise the existence of a God is not guaranteed. The initial premise, although conflicting, stated that everything that exists must have a cause. Somehow, this placed God on the chain as a necessarily existent being.
With a new specified premise, God or the “ultimate cause” is off of the chain leaving the existence of this “physical” chain. With a physical chain that stands on its own such a creator is open to interpretation. The premise no longer guarantees that God exists. So the argument no longer argues Gods existence.
Personally, I find it hard to believe that any premise will singlehandedly be able to prove the existence of God or of an “ultimate” cause, especially not in a few sentences. With this said, I find the conclusion to also be faulty. How can one go about saying that everything that exists has a cause and then so easily jump to the conclusion that God must be this cause? There is no further information within the premise that brings God, in particular any closer to the conclusion. Depending on your particular beliefs I suppose one could use this argument to copy and paste what they would like to see become the “ultimate cause”.
The argument itself is not only vague, but it is also contradictory. Once the premise is changed to meet the conclusion, the existence of God is no longer guaranteed and the argument is useless. Although, even if the premise and the conclusion carried a strong connection and the conclusion specified why God, in particular would qualify as an ultimate cause, I still wouldn’t find the argument valid. This is because I believe that as humans our knowledge is limited. Not only do I think that we are blind when it comes to powers outside of our universe, but I find that until we are no longer human, our understanding of the existence of any kind of God is going to be flawed. Humans, by nature are imperfect as it is.
I don’t find it anywhere productive to place logical “human” assumptions on a situation that is obviously not human. I think that we can only prove so much in our universe before there is no longer any words or reason to describe the indescribable. For all we know the chain of our existence may go back in time infinitely. However, it is our human logic that feels the need to put a starting point to such a chain. The human mind is eager for answers. Humans tend to feel the need to hold the answers of our existence in the palm of their hands in similar ways that some orphaned children feel the need to come face to face with the parents that created them. Perhaps, some of us need this security in order to find reason in existing in the first place?
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Riley and Rutherford bond over ice cream...and hard liquor
"You know, kid. It took me a couple o' months to figure this out but... I'm sad.
I mean, at first it was like, sure no big deal, man. It's easier to be alone-to, you know; be able to bum around and not have to impress anybody. But...shit!
Of course I want somebody to impress. To make happy-otherwise, what the hell is the point, right?"
"Yeah," I said even though my attention was glued to the ice cream container in my hands. It said coconut. It wasn't mine. Did I eat it? I was starting to feel weird. I looked over at Riley who was holding my pint of lemon ice. How did he get that?
The man seemed entirely distracted with his woman problems at the moment but then he paused mid-sentence and looked down at my pint of lemon ice.
"Hey! How the hell did I end up with the virgin ice cream?"
I noticed just then that in his left hand was a small clear bottle.
"Oh well," he let out, frankly and then dumped some of the liquid over my ice.
"That's my treat that your tainting with poison-" I pointed out, somewhat confused by my odd choice in vocabulary. But my lids were feeling so droopy that I don't even think I cared. I was so tired all of a sudden-or was this drowsiness gradual? I had no idea what was going on. My eyes closed.
I reopened them a couple of minutes later to hear Riley sobbing.
"I just don't know man. I mean, how could she just forget us? Dropped me like an unwanted pound is what she did! But didn't we have fun?"
I blinked a couple of times and turned to Riley with a sympathetic frown on my face. I don't think he noticed that I was dozing.
"Here," he said handing my my ice, which was either half melted or just swimming in hard liquor. I spooned some into my mouth.
Gross.
My tongue convulsed and my mouth twisted into a half-frown half-smile kind of expression. I ate some more anyway until Riley's incessant venting became incoherent and I fell back into the world of darkness.
The next time I awoke it was with a wicked pain in my stomach and a horrible taste on my tongue.
I looked over at Riley in the drivers seat who was sleeping with his shoulders drooping in a painful looking hunch and his neck dropped so low that his chin was digging into his chest. He had his hands wrapped around the liquor bottle that was in between his thighs. His coconut ice cream container was on the floor next to his sneakers.
I peered at the black digital watch on his right hand wrist. I cocked my head to see the little numbers.
"Nine-fifteen!" I said loudly.
What happened? My stomach gurgled and I grabbed my belly in fear. What did I eat? A heavy feeling dropped from my stomach into my colon.
"Riley, wake up!"
I punched him in the shoulder, somehow feeling like he was to blame for the two of us sleeping so late-not to mention, my indigestion.
"Yes, Officer? I mean, what?"
He looked at me without lifting his head or fully opening his eyes. His mouth released a moan.
"God, my neck!" he said while lifting himself slowly and placing a hand on the strained area.
"It's late. We're late and now she's gone."
"Who's go-"
"-IRMA! Irma and her grandmother!" I barked, annoyed. Didn't he listen to anything that I told him?
I looked over at the witch's mansion and had to do a double take when I saw Clemens black cruiser. Either they were home or Clemens had simply returned from dropping them off at the church.
"Wait-"
-Gaahuurg! My stomach squealed.
"Aah."
"What, Ford?"
"They're home, maybe. Clemens is still there."
"Oh, so that's good right?"
"Yeah," I grunted. "That means that they might still be here."
"Good-"
"-But I have to go."
"Go? go where?"
"I need a bathroom."
"Oh, um like...now?"
"Like this second, Riley." I hissed.
"Well, where are we going to go? You want to ask the witch?"
I would've punched him but instead I said, No. I was cold sweating but smiling. My nicknames were starting to rub off on the guy.
Riley peeled down Foster and got me back to the convenient store just in time for me to release the pitfalls of my lactose intolerance.
Just my luck, I thought. That she'll be gone with the witch once I return.
When I got back to the car Riley was in the limo with a huge grin on his face.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, um but we need to get back," I reminded him wearily. My bathroom break had really taken a toll on me. I wiped my eyes back with my palms, trying to stretch out my eyelids.
The car made a couple of wheezing noises as it pulled out of the lot. We rolled back down Isabelle and then onto the main road that would take us to Foster. I placed my warm forehead on the cool window. For some reason my cold sweats hadn't quite evaporated. Outside the moving houses made me nauseous. I looked down to the street as it weaved by in gray lines beneath us but that only made it worse.
"You know," I realized. "You never apologized for putting liquor in my ice last night."
Riley shot me a confused look.
"Really, Ford? I thought I was doing you a favor."
"A favor?" I said and released an acidic burp which made me feel a little better.
"Sure, I mean, you're young as hell but I hear that even the elementary school kids-they're starting to drink too. You drink, right?"
"No."
Riley grimaced.
"Don't bullshit me, kid. I know that I couldn't have slipped you your first taste of hard liquor."
"It was my first." I sighed. And last. It probably would've been a better experience if it were not mixed with lactose, I thought.
"Check out this one, Ford," Riley said immediately changing the subject. He pointed to a young girl jogging up the road. "Chest less."
"Yeah, you'd go for the prepubescent type," I remarked snidely and uninterested.
"Will you get off my case about that? I'm saying for you, man!"
"I like curves," I admitted, until the limo passed right by the dark haired girl.
From a distance, her body was foreign to me. With lanky long arms and legs, a flat torso; the girl looked like she might be fourteen years old or something. But then I got a square look at her face-its heart shape containing spaced-out pale green eyes, a dipped nose and long dark eyebrows. I noticed her mouth a long pink stretch-and lips, ones that I've stared at so many times before.
"Pull over," I said sternly.
But Riley didn't take me seriously.
"Wow, you're quite the go-getter aren't ya, kid?
I mean, at first it was like, sure no big deal, man. It's easier to be alone-to, you know; be able to bum around and not have to impress anybody. But...shit!
Of course I want somebody to impress. To make happy-otherwise, what the hell is the point, right?"
"Yeah," I said even though my attention was glued to the ice cream container in my hands. It said coconut. It wasn't mine. Did I eat it? I was starting to feel weird. I looked over at Riley who was holding my pint of lemon ice. How did he get that?
The man seemed entirely distracted with his woman problems at the moment but then he paused mid-sentence and looked down at my pint of lemon ice.
"Hey! How the hell did I end up with the virgin ice cream?"
I noticed just then that in his left hand was a small clear bottle.
"Oh well," he let out, frankly and then dumped some of the liquid over my ice.
"That's my treat that your tainting with poison-" I pointed out, somewhat confused by my odd choice in vocabulary. But my lids were feeling so droopy that I don't even think I cared. I was so tired all of a sudden-or was this drowsiness gradual? I had no idea what was going on. My eyes closed.
I reopened them a couple of minutes later to hear Riley sobbing.
"I just don't know man. I mean, how could she just forget us? Dropped me like an unwanted pound is what she did! But didn't we have fun?"
I blinked a couple of times and turned to Riley with a sympathetic frown on my face. I don't think he noticed that I was dozing.
"Here," he said handing my my ice, which was either half melted or just swimming in hard liquor. I spooned some into my mouth.
Gross.
My tongue convulsed and my mouth twisted into a half-frown half-smile kind of expression. I ate some more anyway until Riley's incessant venting became incoherent and I fell back into the world of darkness.
The next time I awoke it was with a wicked pain in my stomach and a horrible taste on my tongue.
I looked over at Riley in the drivers seat who was sleeping with his shoulders drooping in a painful looking hunch and his neck dropped so low that his chin was digging into his chest. He had his hands wrapped around the liquor bottle that was in between his thighs. His coconut ice cream container was on the floor next to his sneakers.
I peered at the black digital watch on his right hand wrist. I cocked my head to see the little numbers.
"Nine-fifteen!" I said loudly.
What happened? My stomach gurgled and I grabbed my belly in fear. What did I eat? A heavy feeling dropped from my stomach into my colon.
"Riley, wake up!"
I punched him in the shoulder, somehow feeling like he was to blame for the two of us sleeping so late-not to mention, my indigestion.
"Yes, Officer? I mean, what?"
He looked at me without lifting his head or fully opening his eyes. His mouth released a moan.
"God, my neck!" he said while lifting himself slowly and placing a hand on the strained area.
"It's late. We're late and now she's gone."
"Who's go-"
"-IRMA! Irma and her grandmother!" I barked, annoyed. Didn't he listen to anything that I told him?
I looked over at the witch's mansion and had to do a double take when I saw Clemens black cruiser. Either they were home or Clemens had simply returned from dropping them off at the church.
"Wait-"
-Gaahuurg! My stomach squealed.
"Aah."
"What, Ford?"
"They're home, maybe. Clemens is still there."
"Oh, so that's good right?"
"Yeah," I grunted. "That means that they might still be here."
"Good-"
"-But I have to go."
"Go? go where?"
"I need a bathroom."
"Oh, um like...now?"
"Like this second, Riley." I hissed.
"Well, where are we going to go? You want to ask the witch?"
I would've punched him but instead I said, No. I was cold sweating but smiling. My nicknames were starting to rub off on the guy.
Riley peeled down Foster and got me back to the convenient store just in time for me to release the pitfalls of my lactose intolerance.
Just my luck, I thought. That she'll be gone with the witch once I return.
When I got back to the car Riley was in the limo with a huge grin on his face.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, um but we need to get back," I reminded him wearily. My bathroom break had really taken a toll on me. I wiped my eyes back with my palms, trying to stretch out my eyelids.
The car made a couple of wheezing noises as it pulled out of the lot. We rolled back down Isabelle and then onto the main road that would take us to Foster. I placed my warm forehead on the cool window. For some reason my cold sweats hadn't quite evaporated. Outside the moving houses made me nauseous. I looked down to the street as it weaved by in gray lines beneath us but that only made it worse.
"You know," I realized. "You never apologized for putting liquor in my ice last night."
Riley shot me a confused look.
"Really, Ford? I thought I was doing you a favor."
"A favor?" I said and released an acidic burp which made me feel a little better.
"Sure, I mean, you're young as hell but I hear that even the elementary school kids-they're starting to drink too. You drink, right?"
"No."
Riley grimaced.
"Don't bullshit me, kid. I know that I couldn't have slipped you your first taste of hard liquor."
"It was my first." I sighed. And last. It probably would've been a better experience if it were not mixed with lactose, I thought.
"Check out this one, Ford," Riley said immediately changing the subject. He pointed to a young girl jogging up the road. "Chest less."
"Yeah, you'd go for the prepubescent type," I remarked snidely and uninterested.
"Will you get off my case about that? I'm saying for you, man!"
"I like curves," I admitted, until the limo passed right by the dark haired girl.
From a distance, her body was foreign to me. With lanky long arms and legs, a flat torso; the girl looked like she might be fourteen years old or something. But then I got a square look at her face-its heart shape containing spaced-out pale green eyes, a dipped nose and long dark eyebrows. I noticed her mouth a long pink stretch-and lips, ones that I've stared at so many times before.
"Pull over," I said sternly.
But Riley didn't take me seriously.
"Wow, you're quite the go-getter aren't ya, kid?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Some thoughts-I guess you could call them... :)
Here is a previous thought:
I try. I really do. I sit down and think. I know I have feelings for you-so why can't I feel the buzz when you touch me? Why can't I feel the connection where my energy should be entwining with your energy?
(spellcheck)...No misspellings found...Sweet!
Now here is my present assessment:
Initially, you (the lover) might assume that there is something wrong with your energy. But really all this "energy" means is that you are comfortable with yourself. This "self comfort" is what creates the energy-as well as the desire to be with somebody else mentally and physically. It is normal to want to share this comfort with another person.
However, depending on how comfortable you are with yourself-first- will determine how strong this current of energy will be and how long it will be able to stretch out beyond yourself.
If you are truly uncomfortable with yourself there is no way that you are going to have enough energy to give it to another person. This also applies when sharing energy with another person. If your current is weak it will not be able to entwine with somebody else's current.
Once their energy reaches out you may reject it. This is simply because, upon accepting their energy brings you to have to create your own energy and therefore face accepting yourself. If you do not like you for who you are, there is no way that you are going to completely let somebody else like you for who you are.
You might be turned off by such a person, that can be interested in someone(you) that you don't find to be "fit" or "good enough". You may figure that they are settling. This is because, when you do not like yourself you are no longer a part of yourself. You will split yourself in two in order to almost "get away from the "real you". You judge yourself as though your "real self" and your "judgemental self" are two different people. Hence, your judgmental person thinks that if you were in the other persons shoes you'd also be settling.
The judgemental part of you will keep the person who loves the real you from ever getting to really have the "real you". The "judgemental you" does not believe that the "real you" is disciplined or good enough for the person that wants to love you (no matter how great or how lousy that other person is) Although, it is undeniable that the "real you", despite the "judgemental you", really does love the other person.
However, until the "judgemental you" accepts the "real you" and the "real you" stops taking crap from the "judgmental you" can these "yous" really morph into one "you". And quite frankly, one "you" is the healthiest amount of "yous" that you can have.
Once you are singular, your motives will be singular-you will not hold yourself back and you will be able to let others love and admire you because you will see that such love and acceptance toward you is plausible. On top of this, your own singular motives will lack double meaning therefore creating pure intentions. When you stop worrying about yourself you can move on to care about other people and offer them your compassion.
I try. I really do. I sit down and think. I know I have feelings for you-so why can't I feel the buzz when you touch me? Why can't I feel the connection where my energy should be entwining with your energy?
(spellcheck)...No misspellings found...Sweet!
Now here is my present assessment:
Initially, you (the lover) might assume that there is something wrong with your energy. But really all this "energy" means is that you are comfortable with yourself. This "self comfort" is what creates the energy-as well as the desire to be with somebody else mentally and physically. It is normal to want to share this comfort with another person.
However, depending on how comfortable you are with yourself-first- will determine how strong this current of energy will be and how long it will be able to stretch out beyond yourself.
If you are truly uncomfortable with yourself there is no way that you are going to have enough energy to give it to another person. This also applies when sharing energy with another person. If your current is weak it will not be able to entwine with somebody else's current.
Once their energy reaches out you may reject it. This is simply because, upon accepting their energy brings you to have to create your own energy and therefore face accepting yourself. If you do not like you for who you are, there is no way that you are going to completely let somebody else like you for who you are.
You might be turned off by such a person, that can be interested in someone(you) that you don't find to be "fit" or "good enough". You may figure that they are settling. This is because, when you do not like yourself you are no longer a part of yourself. You will split yourself in two in order to almost "get away from the "real you". You judge yourself as though your "real self" and your "judgemental self" are two different people. Hence, your judgmental person thinks that if you were in the other persons shoes you'd also be settling.
The judgemental part of you will keep the person who loves the real you from ever getting to really have the "real you". The "judgemental you" does not believe that the "real you" is disciplined or good enough for the person that wants to love you (no matter how great or how lousy that other person is) Although, it is undeniable that the "real you", despite the "judgemental you", really does love the other person.
However, until the "judgemental you" accepts the "real you" and the "real you" stops taking crap from the "judgmental you" can these "yous" really morph into one "you". And quite frankly, one "you" is the healthiest amount of "yous" that you can have.
Once you are singular, your motives will be singular-you will not hold yourself back and you will be able to let others love and admire you because you will see that such love and acceptance toward you is plausible. On top of this, your own singular motives will lack double meaning therefore creating pure intentions. When you stop worrying about yourself you can move on to care about other people and offer them your compassion.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
My first-
-blog.
And all I do is stare at them- it's not even like I open them or anything. How the hell am I going to get anywhere in life when my favorite hobby is just sitting around and staring at books all day?
And when it's not book covers it's blank pieces of paper. I think I spend more time staring at fresh pages and sharpened pencils than I do actually writing.
And I don't think I have writers block because I have many ideas. I know what's going to happen next- it's just that it's all in my head.
There must be a door closed though. One that, when opened sends the creative energy through my body from my brain to my hand.
It's almost like the thoughts in my head are of a different lingo or even wavelength. I need some type of middleman/translator or some kind of adapter to get my ideas on paper.
This is on my fiction.
And all I do is stare at them- it's not even like I open them or anything. How the hell am I going to get anywhere in life when my favorite hobby is just sitting around and staring at books all day?
And when it's not book covers it's blank pieces of paper. I think I spend more time staring at fresh pages and sharpened pencils than I do actually writing.
And I don't think I have writers block because I have many ideas. I know what's going to happen next- it's just that it's all in my head.
There must be a door closed though. One that, when opened sends the creative energy through my body from my brain to my hand.
It's almost like the thoughts in my head are of a different lingo or even wavelength. I need some type of middleman/translator or some kind of adapter to get my ideas on paper.
This is on my fiction.
It was an empty exercise. It was nothing at all.
I guess here would be the place to post excerpts. I wonder if I need to add any friends... Perhaps I'm only posting for myself right now- which I suppose would be okay too.
The Responsibility Of Balloons.
There was an old lady outside. I could see her from the wall sized window of the coffee shop. She look suspended in one of those massive electronic wheelchairs that implied a lot more than a broken leg. The only thing that was strange about such a sight was that she happened to be sitting in the center of the parking lot-alone-and it was raining-and she had 3 balloons tied to her handlebars-the ones someone else would be holding onto-if only there was someone else.
Where was everybody? Didn't they see this old woman?
She stuck out like a sore thumb with those balloons. What if it was her birthday?
How sad.
But-this is when I have to stop myself.
Say,
Hal, stop thinking of such worst case scenarios. Maybe this old woman liked the rain. Perhaps she found it refreshing- and those balloons-which I didn't make up-maybe those balloons were responsible for this old woman.
I didn't see her arrive. For all I knew she could have descended from the sky. Maybe there were more balloons at first-how would I know? Maybe she started off with many balloons, her and her massive chair, floating in the sky. Although no one would have noticed. No, they wouldn't, would they?-because today is such a crappy day-weather-wise, I mean.
And this old lady-once she finally found a suitable spacious spot on the ground may have stretched around and popped some of those balloons-just enough though-to have her sink slowly onto the cement of the lot.
Sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt, especially if you don't know them from Eden. And in other cases if you feel the need to share something nice-even if it's just a nod of acknowledgement-well, then that's something you have to give to people too. Little things make big differences for people, even if it's between strangers.
Outside the rain was coming to a stop. I smiled, feeling content with my decision to remain seated in this coffee shop and just let the old woman do what she wanted to do. After all-who was I to stop her from her own personal happiness? Surely, I too could learn to enjoy the small things one day-even the rain.
But for now, it would be the yuppie coffee shop for me. The brew was expensive here, but hey, at least I was out of the rain.
Beside the old lady a white short bus pulled up. The woman that stepped out had short short blond hair and a sleeveless shirt- despite the rain- that exposed every tattoo on her arms.
She walked up behind the old lady and her chair, grabbed onto the handlebars and completely disregarded the three balloons.
From where I was seated, it didn't look like the old woman was saying anything to this woman. She wasn't telling her about the balloons or that she chose this spot intentionally- all on her own. She must have known-this woman in the chair-that this lady with the short blond hair wouldn't have understood her motives. She'd probably just call her crazy and disregard any explanation-just like she disregarded the balloons.
She pushed the old woman-with such force that I could see the tattoos bulge on both her arms. She pushed the chair onto a ramp. The ramp stuck out of the white bus- just like the ramps that you see stick out of spaceships- on an angle. Soon the old woman was on a platform, and it was lifting slowly. I tried to imagine that it was really the balloons lifting her- that she was really freeing herself from this "little-bus abduction". I wanted to root her on, to say, "you go, old Lady! Show that bus where you're really going!"
But, as I was in a coffee shop the encouragement didn't leave my lips-and the old woman-well, she was getting sucked into this white bus- she wasn't escaping like I thought she would.
The lady with the short blond hair and tattoos lifted the ramp behind the old woman.
In horror, I watched as one of the balloons lingered outside of the doorway-at the height of this ramp. Like any ignorant person the younger woman pushed the ramp shut and locked it anyway. The balloon lingered outside swaying back and forth violently with the wind as though it were trying to escape.
The lady stared at it for a moment and shrugged, then circled around to the front of the bus and stepped inside.
I wondered what the old woman thought of her balloon-of what the younger lady had done.
But just as soon as the bus had began to pull away another strange thing had happened. The right hand side of the bus-the one with the ramp and the trapped balloon-began to lift up- it lifted until the wheels were off of the ground, and then until the wheels on the left hand side were also suspended in the air.
The bus floated high-above all of the cars in the parking lot, staying somewhat on a slant-with the right side higher than the left. It ascended higher and higher-like a lone-free balloon- until all I could see was a dot in the sky.
I looked around, looked at all the people sipping their cups of expensive coffee-it was just coffee-but they didn't see what i saw. One man was staring intensely into a newspaper-as though deep within it he could see himself and the meaning of life. Two young girls were sitting in a table across from him-skinny and pre-pubescent looking-though they could easily have been as old as me. They sipped their hot drinks hesitantly-careful about their intake of each calorie, even though they were probably drinking unsweetened tea or black coffee.
A third table-one that was closer to me and the window-sat a mother and her son. The boy couldn't have been any older than five and he was looking-out the window up at the sky, like me-with wide brown eyes and a mouth hung open.
"Honey, drink your milk," his mother told him.
"But, Ma," he said, "didn't you see outside?"
"No, I didn't, Hun. It's raining. Just drink."
"There was a bus out there though, and balloons."
"Really?" She asked, faking it-her enthusiasm. She pushed the "tall" cup of milk towards the boy, although he was clearly uninterested in the liquid.
I looked over at the young boy until he caught my gaze. I smiled. His mother didn't notice. I pointed to the sky. The boy smiled and looked down at the table. He wasn't seeing things, that's all he needed to know.
I stood up and threw out my empty coffee cup. I zipped up my jacket and stopped myself from throwing on my hood. The rain was soft now-at a good point for me to start appreciating the small stuff.
The Responsibility Of Balloons.
There was an old lady outside. I could see her from the wall sized window of the coffee shop. She look suspended in one of those massive electronic wheelchairs that implied a lot more than a broken leg. The only thing that was strange about such a sight was that she happened to be sitting in the center of the parking lot-alone-and it was raining-and she had 3 balloons tied to her handlebars-the ones someone else would be holding onto-if only there was someone else.
Where was everybody? Didn't they see this old woman?
She stuck out like a sore thumb with those balloons. What if it was her birthday?
How sad.
But-this is when I have to stop myself.
Say,
Hal, stop thinking of such worst case scenarios. Maybe this old woman liked the rain. Perhaps she found it refreshing- and those balloons-which I didn't make up-maybe those balloons were responsible for this old woman.
I didn't see her arrive. For all I knew she could have descended from the sky. Maybe there were more balloons at first-how would I know? Maybe she started off with many balloons, her and her massive chair, floating in the sky. Although no one would have noticed. No, they wouldn't, would they?-because today is such a crappy day-weather-wise, I mean.
And this old lady-once she finally found a suitable spacious spot on the ground may have stretched around and popped some of those balloons-just enough though-to have her sink slowly onto the cement of the lot.
Sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt, especially if you don't know them from Eden. And in other cases if you feel the need to share something nice-even if it's just a nod of acknowledgement-well, then that's something you have to give to people too. Little things make big differences for people, even if it's between strangers.
Outside the rain was coming to a stop. I smiled, feeling content with my decision to remain seated in this coffee shop and just let the old woman do what she wanted to do. After all-who was I to stop her from her own personal happiness? Surely, I too could learn to enjoy the small things one day-even the rain.
But for now, it would be the yuppie coffee shop for me. The brew was expensive here, but hey, at least I was out of the rain.
Beside the old lady a white short bus pulled up. The woman that stepped out had short short blond hair and a sleeveless shirt- despite the rain- that exposed every tattoo on her arms.
She walked up behind the old lady and her chair, grabbed onto the handlebars and completely disregarded the three balloons.
From where I was seated, it didn't look like the old woman was saying anything to this woman. She wasn't telling her about the balloons or that she chose this spot intentionally- all on her own. She must have known-this woman in the chair-that this lady with the short blond hair wouldn't have understood her motives. She'd probably just call her crazy and disregard any explanation-just like she disregarded the balloons.
She pushed the old woman-with such force that I could see the tattoos bulge on both her arms. She pushed the chair onto a ramp. The ramp stuck out of the white bus- just like the ramps that you see stick out of spaceships- on an angle. Soon the old woman was on a platform, and it was lifting slowly. I tried to imagine that it was really the balloons lifting her- that she was really freeing herself from this "little-bus abduction". I wanted to root her on, to say, "you go, old Lady! Show that bus where you're really going!"
But, as I was in a coffee shop the encouragement didn't leave my lips-and the old woman-well, she was getting sucked into this white bus- she wasn't escaping like I thought she would.
The lady with the short blond hair and tattoos lifted the ramp behind the old woman.
In horror, I watched as one of the balloons lingered outside of the doorway-at the height of this ramp. Like any ignorant person the younger woman pushed the ramp shut and locked it anyway. The balloon lingered outside swaying back and forth violently with the wind as though it were trying to escape.
The lady stared at it for a moment and shrugged, then circled around to the front of the bus and stepped inside.
I wondered what the old woman thought of her balloon-of what the younger lady had done.
But just as soon as the bus had began to pull away another strange thing had happened. The right hand side of the bus-the one with the ramp and the trapped balloon-began to lift up- it lifted until the wheels were off of the ground, and then until the wheels on the left hand side were also suspended in the air.
The bus floated high-above all of the cars in the parking lot, staying somewhat on a slant-with the right side higher than the left. It ascended higher and higher-like a lone-free balloon- until all I could see was a dot in the sky.
I looked around, looked at all the people sipping their cups of expensive coffee-it was just coffee-but they didn't see what i saw. One man was staring intensely into a newspaper-as though deep within it he could see himself and the meaning of life. Two young girls were sitting in a table across from him-skinny and pre-pubescent looking-though they could easily have been as old as me. They sipped their hot drinks hesitantly-careful about their intake of each calorie, even though they were probably drinking unsweetened tea or black coffee.
A third table-one that was closer to me and the window-sat a mother and her son. The boy couldn't have been any older than five and he was looking-out the window up at the sky, like me-with wide brown eyes and a mouth hung open.
"Honey, drink your milk," his mother told him.
"But, Ma," he said, "didn't you see outside?"
"No, I didn't, Hun. It's raining. Just drink."
"There was a bus out there though, and balloons."
"Really?" She asked, faking it-her enthusiasm. She pushed the "tall" cup of milk towards the boy, although he was clearly uninterested in the liquid.
I looked over at the young boy until he caught my gaze. I smiled. His mother didn't notice. I pointed to the sky. The boy smiled and looked down at the table. He wasn't seeing things, that's all he needed to know.
I stood up and threw out my empty coffee cup. I zipped up my jacket and stopped myself from throwing on my hood. The rain was soft now-at a good point for me to start appreciating the small stuff.
I have no sense of grammar.
Sometimes I feel like I'm fooling myself with my comma use. Do I really know what I'm doing?
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