Jorge Borges’ “The Library of Babel” talks about an incomprehensibly large Library that contains every possible book. Even though there are 25 characters in the Library’s alphabet, Borges points out that transliterations or more complex encodings could represent any language. Each book is limited to exactly 410 pages. A shorter work could still be found in the Library, since later pages are allowed to contain only spaces. A longer work could presumably exist, although critics disagree about the best way that could be done. Continue reading
What is good? What is beautiful? Is it universal? Or is it relative to the beholder?
I have been given a lot of advice from concerned associates. I believe they are trying to do good. But the good they are doing creates pressure. It makes me ask questions of myself: am I trying hard enough? Have I overlooked something? Am I beyond redemption? I think those are mostly constructive questions, but I do not think most people know how every amount of spare energy I have is already devoted to finding those answers.
People want to fix me. They want there to be an easy solution. So do I. I have been focusing on the word “hope” for the last while. I can get on board with the principle of hope.
Prayer could help me, reading scriptures could help me, attending the temple could help me, bearing testimony, getting priesthood blessings, serving others, focusing on the things I know, keeping my covenants, following principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, fasting, attending my church meetings could help me. I have hope that centering my family around principles that I feel have served me well in my life is worthwhile. I hope that I will see my dad again. I hope that no matter how lost I may feel that there might still be something to find. Maybe those things will help me feel the spirit again. Maybe they will make me feel justified in my efforts. I hope they will bring the faith or confidence that my hope is in the right place. I hope that I can discern that they are true.
These days I feel like I have a new brain and new eyes and everything is unfamiliar. I feel like I am an infant in this world. Everything I have known seems to be floating away, like dandelion clocks floating in the breeze. It seems so easy to retrieve them before they are gone forever. Just as I reach my hands out to grab one they are whooshed away by my act of trying to grasp them. At times it seems like I catch the feathery orbs, only to find that I have crushed them.
My hope lies in my desire for there to be a truth to find. One to be loyal to and to strive for. So what is good? What is beauty? Does it end at that? Is it unique from person to person? Or is there a unknown spiritual element that ultimately guides us to good, to beauty, to the Truth. That is what I am hoping for. I do not know if I can find it. But how can I have faith if I don’t discern Truth?