No more events. Your day is clear.

It is seldom that a day is perfect. Today however was the indisputable exception. Naturally the thought loomed in the background that it was “just one of those things“; that is, the entire serendipity of the occasion was not to be dismissed.  I hadn’t after all done anything in particular which I would reckon to have fomented the agreeable result. Yet I similarly confess that upon awakening this morning things began unfolding with unanticipated succour and appeal. From the start things were looking well!

Deliberately I wish to avoid the inclination to credit today’s euphoria with anything by design. I had no more cause for predictability than has an ant when commencing its routine. This is not to suggest I haven’t any routine at all.  Indeed I have a routine – almost to a fault if the truth were known – and while it commonly inspires satisfaction it doesn’t normally rise to such brilliance and intense clarity as today’s manifestation. The more frequent provocation of such rhapsody is – for me at least – an examination of the source, a philosophic analysis of the stimulation. Given my educational background with Descartes, Hume et al. it is tolerable that I descend to this industry instinctively. Yet it occurred that it would perhaps benefit my absorption if I were instead merely to list or capture in my mind the elemental features of intoxication. This minor shift of intelligence from deduction to information gathering afforded any unusually uplifting beneficence. For one thing the identification of pleasure as an unsolicited acquaintance – as opposed to a reward for some skilful endurance – succeeded to credit the bliss to the balminess of the air, the shimmering beauty of the Rideau River and the verdancy of the manicured fields of burgeoning corn stalks.

Rene Descartes, a rationalist, said that each person contains the criteria for truth and knowledge in them. Finding truth and knowledge comes from the individual themselves, not necessarily from God. Descartes also believed that reason is the same for every single person. Descartes believed that nothing could be true unless we as humans could perceive it. He also believed that you could break down things into smaller simpler parts. Descartes also believed that there was a relationship between the mind and body. He also believed that the idea of being perfect originated from God since God himself was perfect.

The achievement of taste without the necessity of reason is itself noteworthy. It may amount to a short leap from the “Don’t worry, Be happy!” theme once so contemporary. In my case it is probably but another collateral of aging, one of those indescribably meaningful encounters with nothing more stimulating than the equivalence of a good bowel movement – something I hasten not to discredit by any measure!

On a more advanced level of enquiry I found myself drifting into that peculiar world of schmaltzy memory associated with those who are no longer whinnying among us. Isolating the recollection from the celebrity of personality and productivity – and relying instead upon the instinctive accommodation of emotion – it was clear to me that the most desirable expression of my thoughts belonged to the same acknowledgement of gratitude given a blossoming flower. Indeed while I bicycled today along the former railway right-of-way I smelled the sweet bouquet of flowers in the adjacent field. This is what they would have wished for me – to enjoy life!  It matters not so much that someone is gone as what we continue to do with what we’ve been given. No one of us will live forever. If a lifetime has been eclipsed by the incomprehensible Universe it is our duty to continue with our own and to knock it out of the park!