Thursday, September 4, 2008

Mah head asplode!

As you all probably know, my name is not Mark. ...Just to make it explicit.
Also, heat induces royalty, thus...

Real people. Let's see if I can actually articulate what this means to me.

Back to Mark. It is a fairly common name, insofar as there are a lot of people named Mark. A lot of other people. A lot of real people.

One time, I was on a bus with a guy named Mark. Circumstances allowed that Mark's mother (or, mom) was also going to be on this bus. When the passengers were informed of this, one of them shouted, both appropriately (for choice of meaning) and inappropriately (for tone and choice of time to speak up) that "Mark has a mom!"

This of course makes sense. I even knew Mark's mom prior to this event, at the very least at the acquaintance level.

So far, how unremarkable (no pun intended, really).

Then I got to thinking. I was on the north-west side of the road with one of the things I will probably never forget. I was listening to Seeking The Wise by P.O.D.. That is irrelevant. Really.

Sure, Mark has a mom. Indeed, I also have a mom. Through no experience, though through logic and firm belief I maintain that Mark's mom also has a mom. This, I think, is the second biggest leap in faith in this mind boggling journey.

'Mom' is a noun and is used to refer to a person. (A real person - but we're still getting to that part).

I also am a person. Let me tell you about myself. I'm sure you will relate to a lot of the following.
I was born, experienced a childhood I can remember only through stories and videos. I went to school, was disoriented, learned things eventually.
When I was really young I got separated from my parents at an outdoor fair event thing. I found a place to sit down and cry until my mom found me (this I actually remember without stories or videos). I had emotions then. I grew older, had fights with my siblings, moved to a different city. Made and lost new friends until a few people learned they could tolerate me.
I was a teenager, had raging hormones, did stupid things without realising how stupid they were. I aced classes, I've failed classes, I've not cared either way. I've had painful relationships, financial trouble, too much candy at Hallowe'en. I've disliked people, I've loved people, I've been happy, sad, rueful, depressed, exuberant, fun, boring, etc. etc.
I have a mother, and brothers and sisters, and friends, and people I barely know, even people I don't know at all.
I experience life in a wonderful way. My eyes can view things with immense detail - I have never seen a pixelated image on account of the resolution of my eyes! I can remember things and forget things, be intuitive, feel something on my back that I cannot see, hear someone coming from a distance, imagine, hallucinate, be in pain and quell it with drugs.
The range of things I do and can experience are endless! Endless! (and yet...)

By des Cartes, I am a real person.

Through some sort of belief that I claim is based partially on my faith, and partially on idle speculation and paritally on fear, I do believe that other people are similar to me in the above regards. They were also born, have families and hatreds and loves and pet peeves, annoying co-workers, etc. etc. This is also the case of their moms. These moms also were born, have moms, weird friends, loose acquaintances, and also physically see with such impossible detail, having a massive range of emotions and potential experiences. Ad nauseum, all people who have ever lived are as real, intricate, astounding and impossible as I am these things and more!

I went to the Glenbow museum for the Greek, Rome and Egypt exhibit. I got to stand very near a carving which was over four thousand years old. The neat thing? The guy who carved it was a real person. He may have cut himself while carving it, and cursed or something. He may have been tired, or hungry, or well fed, or migrating or wealthy... but he was a real person. His mom was also a real person in the same way.

The essence of real people, then, is that as I have a lifetime of experiences, memories, associations to people and breadth of experience, I believe through inexplicable faith that you are the same way. That everybody is the same way.

This gets a little more weird when I start thinking about size and perspectives, and focus, but I hope this at least gives a little insight into my thoughts.

So, if you ever want to get an odd reaction out of me, mention real people.

Goodnight :)