Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Island Time

Awake to see this morning's spectacular Boulder sunrise, my body proved to me for the third day in a row that it is still on island time.
Gladly accompanying my grandparents on their 50th wedding anniversary in the form of a Caribbean-cruising sailboat, seven days were spent basking (read: getting charred) in the sun, consuming altogether way too many alcoholic beverages, swimming, eating and trying really hard to just relax. I did, however, come to the realization that the term "island time" applies to much more than what your watch says; it's a way of life.
There are a few things that especially flourish on island time, but above all the winner seems to be romance. The Caribbean caters to everyone's varying definitions of romance, and traveling through, it was almost comical to see the broad spectrum realized in so many forms.
On a very superficial level my younger sister, Liz, pointed out that on several of the islands, the male-female ratio was dramatically on her side (she has a thing for darker men with accents) to the tune of 2 to 1. I figured that the generous gentlemen leading our excursions just liked the rare blonde, or wanted a decent tip. Liz soaked up the attention and thought nothing more of it.
The next instance, which was perhaps more lust than love (but who am I to judge?) came when I was bobbing up and down in the waves off of Martinique (?) and happened to glance toward shore just in time to see one of the older crew members from our ship furiously, shamelessly and quite publicly locking lips with someone I assumed was from the island. As I debated whether this was a romantic meeting or an island booty-call, a wave knocked some sense into me and I concluded that there may not be too much difference.
Of course, 'hook-ups,' as my father so aptly coined them, are all very much a part of the cruising lifestyle for guests on the ship, as well. It is the wonderful mix of heat and booze that results in less clothing and more ambition. The sad aspect of these relationships is they seem to be short-lived, and after the seven days, ways are parted and people end up in their respective parts of the globe with only a memory and perhaps a new Facebook friend.
The true romance was found in the 50-and-over crowd; those that came together in celebration of many years spent in one another's company, through sickness and in health, through richer or poorer -- the romance 22-year-old women crave. I found myself sighing more than usual and wishing upon most of the stars in the perfectly black Caribbean ceiling for some of that to come my way.
The most heart-wrenchingly romantic story came from a German-Argentinian couple. The German (man) fell in love with the Argentinian woman, even though she was the secretary that handed him his pink slip. He left on a three week vacation, only to return a week early just to see her. When he arrived at her house, her mother informed him that her daughter had flown to the U.S. to marry someone else. In a spectacular show of persistence, the German acquired a visa, booked the only seat left on a U.S.-bound plane - first class, which he was no business to be flying - and made it to the U.S. in time. Needless to say, he somehow convinced her to marry him, and they have been side-by-side ever since.
And then there are my grandparents - celebrating, and rightly so, 50 years of thick and thin. Never have I heard my grandfather speak so lovingly to my grandmother, thanking her for everything that she put up with. Never have I realized how much those two have been through together - near-death experiences, children, constant moving, a war, jobs, illnesses, and on the list goes. Listening to those stories and seeing my grandparents recognize that neither of them could have made it to this point without the other, made me realize how important marriage is on levels I before did not know existed. Romance is more than making out in a tropical paradise: it's having a best friend and a life partner with which to share everyday.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

First Amendment: Part I "Separation of Church and State"

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

A war is being waged through a very unlikely medium: license plates.
The Americans United for Separation of Church and State have recently sued the state of South Carolina over its potentially unconstitutional DMV-issued plates with "I Believe" accompanied by a cross. They are suing on behalf of a rabbi, two Christian pastors and a Hindu organization. As of right now, the federal courts have ruled on a temporary injunction to hault the distribution of the plates.
Now here is an interesting situation: religious organizations suing to quiet another religious group's freedom of speech. Can you say, "Shooting yourself in the foot?"
This case can be argued two ways:
1) The AUSCS can argue that the S.C. legislature is supporting a religious establishment by passing a law that creates a Christian-specific plate. On these grounds, yes, the S.C. legislature's Act No. 253 or the "I Believe" Act, is wrong. However....
2) It has been established that vanity plates fall under freedom of speech, and as such, the religious organizations suing the state are harming their own freedoms if this nonsense is passed. First, why would two Christian pastors have a problem with "I believe" being inscribed on a license plate? The followers of these Christian leaders need to seriously re-assess their ideals and those of their pastors. As for the non-Christian leaders: Why would they not push for their own religious-specific license plates in the hopes of having equal opportunity to express their ideals instead of squashing those of others. Freedom of speech means just that; freedom. It does not mean, "His speech hurts my feelings because I believe differently so it shouldn't be allowed!"
The only way that the AUSCS has a leg on which to stand is if the S.C. Legislature decides not to pass or ban license plates that say, "Allah is king." Only at this point is there a freedom of speech violation. Until then, the religious groups should put an add in their establishments' bulletins asking for lisence plate ideas.

Related links:

Ind. appeals court backs 'In God We Trust' license plates
7th Circuit: Ill. not required to issue 'Choose Life' plates
9th Circuit: Ariz. wrong to deny 'Choose Life' plates

Monday, December 1, 2008

Weather incoming

What is the only thing that means more runners than cyclists on Boulder's streets? Snow and low enough temperatures to create icy roads.
Sure enough, the 70-plus degree weather has finally left Colorado, and with it goes the ability to climb endlessly outdoors, run for hours on end and, perhaps my favorite pastime, turn your face toward the sun, smile and absorb.
With the sudden change comes the temptation to do unhealthy things such as drink whiskey, remain inactive for long periods of time, eat chocolate etc. Essentially everything I hate to love comes into fruition.
However, the cooler temps also supply time for several things I enjoy thoroughly. For one, drinking hot tea. A tip for tea drinkers: boiling hot water scalds green tea making it bitter. For sweeter green tea, let your boiling water cool slightly before pouring it on the tea bag.
Second, and most important, reading. For your curiosity, and my record, I am including my top "must reads" for the winter. The list may get longer at some point, so feel free to check back if you are ever in the need for a good read.

1. Galetea 2.2 by Richard Powers
2. Nathaniel Hawthorne's selected short stories
3. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
4. The Light of Other Days by Arthur C. Clarke
5. The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan
6. Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs
7. A Rat's Tale by Tor Seidler
8. Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson

Hopefully there is enough of a variety for all tastes in this list.
For further reading, here's a little bit of disappointing, anti-First Amendment news... sorry folks, but it's true -- and in California, no less: http://www.firstamendmentcenter.org/news.aspx?id=20919

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Battle of the ages

There are no men in Boulder; they are all boys with no intention of even attempting manhood ... ever. Half of this folly can be excused by realizing that Boulder is a city for dreamers and chasing dreams. The 50+ -year-old locals have just made dream-chasing their occupation, and that is to be commended; at least they are probably happy.
The differences between boys and men are subjective to a certain extent, and by no means do I like boys less than men - I just don't want to date them. Cruel? Perhaps. But a girl has to stick to some standards. To better illustrate boy v. man, let's explore what a typical profile for each might look like ...

Name: Billy the Kid
Age: On my fake id or my real one?
Hometown: I roam
Occupation: Philosophical thinking and physical labor
Career aspirations: Climbing V14 / 5.14
Favorite activities: Climbing, partying, riding my bike
Favorite food: a rush bowl or a burrito, depending on time of day
Where you would take a girl on a date: The crag
Car: Specialized Mt. Bike
Scent: Old Spice and/or Curve
Hair length: Long
Reason for moving to Boulder: Is that even a question?

Name: Prince Charming
Age: 28
Hometown: Midwest
Occupation: What I got my master's degree in
Career aspirations: See 'occupation'
Favorite activities: Reading, trad climbing, cycling, traveling, remodeling my home
Favorite food: Sushi,
Where you would take a girl on a date: My house. I'd make a romantic dinner.
Car: Audi
Scent: Manly musk
Hair length: Short, with a closely shaved beard
Reason for moving to Boulder: My job brought me here, and Eldo is an added bonus.

Of course, there are huge exceptions to either of these profiles, and also note that I am scratching my climbing itch, so my dearest friends are those who share attributes in the "boy" category and I am in no position to truly judge, only observe.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Running and the definition of life

Around the next corner it is going to get better
the top of this hill is five steps away
Today feels better than yesterday
The suffering is all in my head
My lungs are burning
Awesome song, forgot the pain due to jamming out
Watch the rocks, don't twist the ankles
Make sure to look up, can't miss it all
Finally.
... Wow, what a beautiful world.

On multiple runs in the past month, when running has been a healing factor for both body and soul, thoughts have tended toward the comparison of running to life. As one chooses a trail, so can one choose a path in life.
Of course, the corresponding trail-to-path is not always perfect, but the similarities provide a refreshing perspective on decision making processes. Plus, I just have a lot of time to think while I'm running...

The steep trail run: For this run, the choice has been made to suffer physically for the oneness with nature, the crisp air, the changing scenery, getting to the top and the satisfaction suffering brings. This has been the run of choice for me as of late, and I find that it also corresponds with the path I have chosen for my life. Giving up the 'straight-and-narrow' path that leads to a solid career, more education, a serious significant other and the security of knowing every day could very well be the same as the one before has reaped benefits unimaginable, but also is potentially as fleeting as this beautiful November weather. The sacrifices are there, as shopping and entertainment have to be re-assessed, along with several other 'necessities,' but in the end, it is insignificant when compared to the pure elation of the travel.
The view has been spectacular and ever-changing. What I can see from the top, with a clear mind and a healthy body can not be compared to anything else that I might experience with greater security. The feeling of being able to claw my way to the peak, for the purpose of the trip, as opposed to simply wanting to get to the top, makes the summit a far better accomplishment. The idea of stopping to smell the flowers is half of the beauty of this trail, the other half is not being able to smell the flowers because of breathing so hard, inhaling with any other purpose than to breathe seems insignificant. Playing hard is the name of the game; but so is stopping when it is necessary to appreciate, meditate and celebrate.
Of course, there will be a time when my muscles say, "No more," or money takes precedence over time, and all that is left is pavement-pounding and running to get a run in for the day. The scenery doesn't matter, and all that does is raising your heartbeat for the doctor-recommended 30 minutes a day. There is no celebrating at the top, because there is rarely a 'top.' The only thing good about the run is getting back home. Is this the way an activity should be? Never. Running, and its life equivalent, should be the thing to which one looks forward at the conclusion of the day's duties. There is no need for a stopwatch, unless simply for curiosity's sake, because there is nowhere else to be but the present.
There is no soul in conquering concrete, but sometimes the soul gets left at the trail's summit, and awaits the day when it is reclaimed by the huffing hippie that left it there. I'm still searching for my summit, and loving every minute of it.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Time or money

One of the best perspectives on life as of late, 'One can have either time or money' comes at an interesting time for anyone recently graduated. Rarely do both co-exist, so a choice must be made and often the decision is not an easy one.
With time comes pleasure; internally. As nothing worth anything can be purchased with cash, time should always be the choice. Time allows for everything good: relaxation, recreation, laughing, talking, writing, exploring, sex (the good kind). Nature is the best example of time, as it requires little to no money, but gives everything to mentally cure the human psyche. It is always there, one must simply decide to reach out and touch it, as with time.
However, because of the complications of
living, the eating, sleeping logistical version, money is perceived to be a major factor. The physical needs in life require it, and therefore the higher pleasures are often ignored or put aside temporarily in order to sustain. There is no easy way around the need for money, although some have found ways to place money on the back burner. But it seems to be just that: temporary. The gain resulting from time spent away from money is often tainted by the lingering fear of when money will run out, and takes time with it.
So what is one to do in this predicament? Lives are often spent in reverse because of the unspoken force that guides decisions about time and money. When young, money escapes easily and does not replenish without effort. Energy expended goes toward money and not time and at the peak of physical ability, when time should be spent satisfying higher pleasures, time is wasted on superficial, physical needs. When money finally abounds, the body is decrepit from the race for money and the true pleasures can not all be enjoyed. Time is left to its lonesome and what is left but regret?
Where the sacrifices are to be made is obviously not easy to determine, as the factors being dealt with are logical on one side and emotional on the other. Emotions and logic are nearly impossible to compare.
The choice is yours, choose wisely.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Colorado girl

Occasionally it is necessary to get away from the bustle of downtown Boulder and the people in it, and sweat out the qualms and quandaries of the previous night with the help of mother nature. After finding a place to park a few blocks down the street from Chataqua park, I started to realize this was not quite the getting away that I had envisioned. Nevertheless, I slipped on my earphones, cranked the iPod to drown out my heavy breathing and headed up the least-packed trail at a slightly slower gait than normal.
Earlier the same morning I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth, both figuratively and literally. The micro brew consumed last night had certainly left its mark. Slapping for the cell phone only heeded more vomitous realizations: So many missed calls and even more drunk dials resulted in a decision to stop drinking, again. Lifestyle changes must be made as my climbing and psyche were degrading by the weekend. This combined with much confusion relating to overzealous men, nice men, past men and just men in general led to the sudden urge to get outside for a long trail run.
The run was medicating, but not quite as planned. About 20 minutes into the jog after realizing some wrong turns had led me to bight off more than I could chew, I stopped to ‘check out some boulders’ (read: catch my breath for longer than I deserved). Hippity-hopping down the path like a sparrow, with legs to fit, came the typical Boulder runner with a regal, panting best friend at his heals. I give the nicely-aging gentleman a smile of desperation, wiping off the drips of sweat still running down my forehead. To my surprise he yelles, “Get yourself up there!”
I really don’t know how to respond so I pant, “Is it worth it?”
“Of course. You can do it. You’re a Colorado girl now.” And he was off.
Wait, a Colorado girl? Have I not been a Colorado girl my entire life? What did he mean by this? My immediate conclusion was that I must look fat and out of shape, but after further convincing gave the nice man, and myself, the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe he could have meant a number of different things by that; I’m just not sure what.
Regardless, his statement changed the mood of the run in a positive manner. The iPod got turned off, the run got more intense and Colorado was enjoyed more, honestly. At the peak, I scrambled to a good sitting spot with a view of the other side of Boulder and my perspective on life was immediately changed.
With head finally cleared, the hike down was a little sunnier and the air significantly fresher. Upon arriving at my car I realized that sometimes it takes an out-of-place comment by a very in-place stranger to change a bad perspective and clear the clouds of one’s mind. I still don’t know what he meant by his comment, and it will perturb me for quite awhile, undoubtedly. But along with the confusion comes the life lesson, which isn’t all bad.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Ohhhbama... and other election-day trends

It has become sometimes painful to observe the ignorant, sheep-like following of Sen. Barack Obama by the entire Boulder (and surrounding) community knowing perhaps more than half are doing so because it is trendy (although they will probably claim otherwise).
While Obama must be given credit where it is due for attracting so many 'new' people to the election of arguably the most important position in the country, the manner in which this attraction is occurring is more in tune with a female-male courtship or a jam band groupie than a political election.
Flocking to the nearest hip bar to watch each debate with 100 others holding the exact same 'views,' patrons of Obama memorize enough clever witticisms to quote the following day at Whole Foods, another hip bar, or basically anywhere, as everyone believes the same thing. Ask any at the bar-debate party the next day what Obama's foreign policy plan for the middle east is (perhaps the most important topic, and most talked about?), and see who actually knows the answer. And if they happen to know the answer due to common-sense party-line politics, ask them about another topic. The answers will most likely resemble an episode of "Street Smarts."

Evidence that this is not just a bitter rant can be found in an article of the Golden Transcript following Obama's visit to the Colorado School of Mines: http://www.milehighnews.com/Articles-i-2008-09-18-208033.114125_Obama_supporters_fill_arena.html In the article, a woman named Mary Orem, a Golden, CO resident was captured in this manner:
Tears streamed down her face intermittently during Obama's 45-minute speech. "I'm 54, and this is the first time I've been able to be this involved," Orem said.
Really Mary? Tears? Please keep in mind that, according to the article, Obama was addressing national economic issues, not freeing war-torn countries. Tears hardly seem necessary.
But more distressing is the quote from Orem. At the age of 54 this is the first time she has been able to be this involved? How frightening that Orem has lived to the age of 54 without realizing that as a citizen of the United States, it has been her job since the age of 18 to be 'this involved' in the political process. Furthermore, I have trouble sleeping at night thinking about people of this intelligence and emotional (tears?) level voting for the next leader of the free world.
However, I retain some hope in the fact that Mary, in her emotionally fragile state probably forgot to register to vote, and will instead sit at home and feel involved on election day.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Stress and P.M.S.

My mother once told me, and has since then continued to tell me, that stress does not exist. Hilariously, neither does P.M.S. They are both society's excuse for making excuses, if you will. My question is: how do you not get stressed trying not to be stressed? Whenever I offhandedly say that I'm stressed and she tells me that it is virtually impossible, my mind goes into a cycle similar to this: "Oh no, if I'm not stressed, then what is happening to make me so... crap! How do I explain what I'm feeling right now? Ahhh! What's going on! Why can't I say I'm stressed? Is my mom mad at me for saying I'm stressed or does she just think me a weak person? Gosh, she sure stresses me out..." *cue cycle restarting*
The same goes for P.M.S., except substitute bitchiness for the stress.
The point is, I'm going to work on not letting my mother tell me how to feel when there are apparent physical and mental indicators proving otherwise. This is a huge step. Huge. Honestly, I'm a little stressed about it right now. I'll get into that later.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The anniversary that isn't

What do you say to someone on the anniversary to which you did not make it?
It is a strange place to be hit with such a date right in the midst of getting over that thing which the date so well signifies. If the relationship is no longer, the date is then just a date. So one is then left mourning the loss of the importance of a date, along with the loss of the relationship. In essence, on this particular "non-anniversary" it is bound to rain throughout the day, someone will ruin your vanilla latte when you need it most, your car will break down, the birds will most definitely not sing and you will be alone. Very alone.
Fortunately, these circumstances will then allow you to instead remember this date as the worst day of your life as opposed to the date when you would be showered with flowers, gifts, sex and candy. Oh, and romance.
What does not kill us makes us stronger, what does not impregnate us saves us from stretchmarks and... candy makes you fat, so it's good that there is none of that too.
But this just leads back to the first question: what do you say? The smart choice is to leave it be, let the damned be damned and move on. There are quite a few other days in the year that promise to be much more pleasant. However, it would be comforting to have someone else as miserable as oneself on the other line, mourning the date as well.
How pathetic, right? What is in a date, anyway?

Note: I now realize that this post sounds inspired by madness along the likes of stream of consciousness queen Virginia Woolf. However, because I am sounding slightly depressed is no reason to lock me in a room and put me on bed rest as they did to Ms. Woolf, may she rest in peace.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

"Bolder"

I'm finally moving to the town where everything I believe lies on the moderate to conservative side of the political spectrum. I would be, in fact, bold to assert my respect for Palin, for instance. However, the comfort that I was expecting in being accepted for my views is not quite soothing. While the "liberal" party is supposed to be more open-minded, it is in fact only open to its own views. I want so badly for there to be a medium where socially liberal and fiscally conservative can come together and actually make a factual defense for something while adding a pinch of feelings, just for taste.
Of course, this is wishful thinking, and until I come out with my third party manifesto, I will not complain -- at least for the rest of this post.
Boulder really is a remarkable town, what with its millions of cars and trillions of cyclists all meshing together in a gigantic, ever-evolving, stop-and-go worm that makes its way across Broadway. It is one of those places where it is so easy to fit in, yet feel inwardly fake, or to be a follower for doing what feels right. Most of the time it does not matter, as there are so many milling around that one easily goes unnoticed. It is the first time in my life that I have had the pleasure of disappearing, always going to small schools and living in the same city in which my parents both grew up.
Of course, the happy finding when going unnoticed is when you are noticed, which Boulder is also good for on occasion.
I'm not fearing becoming a Boulderite, and will in fact embrace it head-on... boldly if you will. I'm going to do everything that would identify me as a Boulderite if it feels right. Yoga... check. Granola... yum/check. Rock climbing... check. Cycling... check. Wearing chacos... check and check. Enjoying the musicians on Pearl St... check. Plastering a peace sign somewhere on my vehicle or on my person at all times... working on it. Inner peace and spiritual enlightenment... still to come.


Saturday, August 23, 2008

Breeding Intolerance, wife abuse and arranged marriages

The (mostly) unspoken battle of religion rages on in my house. I continue to appease my parents and regularly attend church services of the southern baptist kind, but it is increasingly more difficult to stay put in my pew with some of the things that the adored pastor spews from the pulpit.
I've been surprised several weeks in a row: all sermons have been somewhat centered around political views and how the church should vote in the next presidential election. A few weeks ago, the topic surrounded tolerance, and why it was a bad thing. Those of us hippies that want to hold hands, sing "Kum-by-ah" around the campfire are INSANE! How could we actually accept that others have their own view and that it might *gasp!!* be different from our own. Conclusion: we must blow them up and vote McCain.
Last Sunday, the sermon looked to be on the right foot, and then that foot slipped off a ledge and the whole sermon slipped down an icy crevasse, never again to see the light of day. The topic? Family structure. Of course, the pastor began by warning us that he was not going to be politically correct, because you can't change your beliefs in order to not hurt the feelings of "the fallen." I believe there is a difference between not being politically correct and being an asshole, but that can be argued otherwise I suppose... So, in a lavish explanation of the age-old "children should obey their parents," Pastor slips in that wives should submit to their husbands, no matter how stupid their husbands are or how incapable they are to actually run the family because that is how the Bible says we should run our families. Now, if this does not scream, "Abuse your wife- you can!" I don't know what does. Talk about empowering men and setting women back a hundred years. We may as well be fundamental LDS and let the husbands have more than one wife to do their bidding.
Oh, and last thing. Arranged marriages: still okay according to the pastor. He referenced his recent trip to India, talking to a girl who told him that she would only marry a man that her parents picked for her, and even if she did not love him, she would obey her parents. I don't know about anyone else, but if I were to only marry a person that my parents picked for me, I would be up the proverbial Shit Creek with no paddle, and a foot washing Baptist husband.
The thing that started this rant happened before I even had my morning cup of tea. I had brought home a free "enjoy the outdoors" publication, and on the back page was a quote by Aldous Huxley, "My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing." Underneath, my mother wrote, Ask what your heavenly father thinks about it. Thanks mom, I think I'll go ponder that, in the mountains.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Why echinacea?

There are certain 'truths' in life that are thrust upon us from a very early age. Many are grown-ups' hilarious, witty tricks or explanations for the complexities of the world that later get placed in a child's scrapbook only to be laughed at again by that parent and an uncomfortable boyfriend 10 years down the road. Often, these 'truths,' which I place in quotes as many of them are not in fact truths at all, lead to generally horrific outcomes. The severity of the outcome may not be realized until much later, and can come in the form of physical or psychological devastation. Usually the latter in my experience.
Some such circumstances I can look back on and laugh. One primo example: my mother didn't find it appropriate for my sisters and me to use the word "fart." I've found it normal in many families for children to use "toot" or something slightly more fruity to replace the oh-so-earth-shattering fart. However, my mother and her sister decided to tell my cousins, sisters and me that the action of passing gas through our bottoms was "sparting." All was fine and dandy for awhile, because our circle of "sparters" was tight-knit, and comfortable. Sadly, this all had to end when the first one of us broke out of that circle, tried to use "spart" and was harshly laughed back to the Spartans.Needless to say, I still feel awkward saying the word fart in front of my mother, but have gotten over the brunt of that one.
So, why "Echinacea Meditacea?"
Whenever we (my five sisters or I) would start to get sick, my mom would automatically, without any hesitation whatsoever, say, "Take some Echinacea!" while running toward the fridge where she stored the vile of concentrated amber liquid. A few dropper-fulls would go into a small glass of orange juice if we were lucky, luke-warm water if we weren't (why the water couldn't be cold, I have yet to figure out). Since I can remember, for most ailments, Echinacea was the answer. I've even noticed myself telling my friends to take it when they are coming down with something. I take it loyally, and will probably continue taking it, even after finding out the truth. The thought of mom's cure is comforting, but that's about it.
Studies have shown (check anywhere) that Echinacea, while potentially easing the symptoms of a cold and maybe shortening its duration, does absolutely nothing. In fact, it shouldn't be used if you have any of a long list of ailments, are preggo or nursing, etc. While pure Echinacea does have its benefits, the modern supplements on sale in most grocery and vitamin stores aren't very good, some have been found to be tainted, actually. So, the modern-day consumer is left with a lot of research before them if they want to find a pure supplement that will actually aid them. If they slack and go with what the commoner is doing/advising, they could get stuck with tainted pills that will make them worse-off than before. But with careful searching and patience, the benefits of Echinacea can be realized and result in the betterment of life, which is what most of us strive for in one way or another, correct?
With this picture painted, I realize how many times this parable plays out throughout our 'education days.' How many things do we believe simply because someone has told us that it is the way, the truth (and the light?)? I grew up believing there was a god because that's what we learned every Sunday. But I want to start exploring my thoughts on these things in the reverse manner than how they were fed to me. Thoughts and evidence first, conclusions and 'grand statements of being' last. Not simply religion, as if religion could ever be simple, but this applies to all aspects of life and how we go about leading it.
I rarely take time to meditate on the why in my world. I've come to a crossroad in life; one in which I would normally be reaching for the proverbial Echinacea, but in finding that it doesn't work, more exploring needs to occur to get me back. Therefore, Echinacea Meditacea is my mindset for the time being... until all of the pieces are put back into their rightful places or brutally chucked at random to god(s) know where.