March 9, 2017
Inquiries have been inquired about a particular piece of subject matter, which at one time was considered this column’s continuously contemplated captivating cornerstone. One which has apparently been absent from these hallowed pages for quite some time. The topic in question is the quest for “the meaning of life,” what it is and if there is actually any meaning to it?
Speculations have been made that the reason it has not been addressed is because the writer has finally given up this literary expedition. Perhaps coming to the resounding conclusion that life is meaningless and has no solution. Or perhaps that the solution to life is meaningless.
Further speculations suggest that said writer has discovered the secret to “the meaning of life” and has decided to hoard that knowledge for himself. Possibly deciding that the human race is not yet ready to know the reason they’re alive. Or maybe the meaning of life is too stupid to bother with and the writer kept the information secret because it is dumb.
The furthest observation is that after reading Douglas Adams’s comedy science fiction series “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy” the writer agreed with the novel’s conclusion. That being that the meaning of life, the universe and everything is without question 42. But what does that mean? 42 what? Well is doesn’t necessarily mean 42 of anything just 42. This may place this solution in the “meaning of life being stupid” category.
In truth this column continues its continuous search for meaning in existence. Though not always directly, we are always viewing varying aspects of life in search for reason and purpose. To explore strange new worlds- to seek out new life and new civilizations- to boldly go where …“TH-WACK!!!” WHAT IN HELL WAS THAT???
It is said that if a bird flies into an open window of your home that it portends a death. The most common form of this superstition is that birds, especially black birds, are an omen that a loved one is going to die soon. So would that mean that if the bird smacks into a closed window you’ve dodged the bullet and evaded death? What if it’s a white bird? Does that mean it portends to life or birth? Or that someone’s moving in? Most birds are varying shades of brown or fifty shades of gray. So would that be like a 50\50 thing?
Yes, we just redirected this discussion mid-sentence because a bird has slammed itself into the bay windows of the House o’ Saw’s day/playroom. Just roll with it. Who knows there might be some deeper, meaning to life crap in all of this.
John Q. (my yellow stuffed bear sidekick) and Frank (a.k.a. the Angel of Death) are already on the scene by the time I get outside. John is cradling the now flightless fowl in his stubby stuffed arms. “Oh wookie!” he exclaims sadly, “it smashed its wittle bwains to pieces, wook at its bwoody wittle head.” He lays the bird down, starts crying and looks to me for answers.
Superstitions aside, there are numerous theories as to why birds fly into closed windows. One suggests quite simply, they mistake reflections in windows for open space. Birds are not always able to tell that windows are barriers between them and the destination to which they think they are flying. This doesn’t sound too farfetched. How many of us have walked into sliding glass doors? Another popular theory is that birds, being territorial, mistake their own reflection for that of another bird and attack to try to drive the other bird away. But why would a bird attack another bird, mere inches away, at kamikaze speeds? This brings up the question of a bird’s psychological state when it flies headlong into a window.
Do birds get depressed? Do they suffer empty nest syndrome? Is it possible that when a bird flies into a window it’s not a coincidental accident but a cry for emotional assistance? Or worse a spontaneous suicide attempt? Or are birds just stupid?
We can speculate and contemplate on the why of it all but never come to a resounding conclusion because we are not birds. Not being birds we will never know what goes through a bird’s mind (ass aside) when it flies into an invisible wall. We’ll never be able to ask a bird because unfortunately, most injuries incurred as the result of colliding with a window are fatal. At this point I look accusingly at Frank who shrugs and shakes his head… so it wasn’t him…so the bird’s not dead?
Upon closer inspection the “blood” covering its head is not the result of a massive head wound but rather its natural plumage. It’s a Red Headed Woodpecker that has unintentionally collided with our home or is it the result of a failed suicide attempt? Hmmm is it still breathing? Just a little closer, maybe I can feel for a… holy s*** it’s in my face! It’s alive and it’s woodpeckering my head! Away with you winged hellspawn! And off he goes alive and well.
There is a lesson to be learned here. Perhaps one that is a stepping stone towards the eluding mystery called “life.” It is deep, it is meaningful and it shouldn’t be ignored. That lesson: keep your face away from birds.
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Hope to hear from ya, until then try and stay focused. See ya!