We may learn things from one who preaches, or we may find their pontificating a waste of time—often enough, a hypocritical waste of time. What child ever preaches? Yet time spent open-heartedly with a child is never wasted.

There is a phase of melancholy—a phase that has sloughed all urgency—that seems to me always a revelation of that ancient, familiar thing, my true self. If there is anything in a person with which one may be in love, surely it can only ever be the self that such melancholy reveals. There are potent and austere traditions that teach us a true self that has no qualities, no atmosphere, and which thus could never be revealed by melancholia; some of these traditions maintain, in a tone that suggests resistance is folly, that there is no self at all. But such traditions are not native to my soul, and within my life they are new, though they are older than me in history. For me, the self revealed by melancholy is older and thus truer.

Life may be scaryBut it’s only temporary.And this is perhaps the most comforting conclusion to be reached if one discounts the possibility of meaning.from: Antinatalism A Thought Experiment

Life may be scaryBut it’s only temporary.And this is perhaps the most comforting conclusion to be reached if one discounts the possibility of meaning.

The famous atheist Christopher Hitchens once declared that ‘You’re expelled from your mother’s uterus as if shot from a cannon, towards a barn door studded with old nail files and rusty hooks.’ Presumably that was what he had in mind when conceiving his three children.