A commentator at my site objects to my discussion of Existentialism and the meaning of life:
“In all honesty this is just a bunch of JibJab with really no actual true meaning funny how people waste years and thousands studying this irrelevant b***** go out side be outdoors live a little bit”
The Urban Dictionary defines “jib jab” as “a language usually used when a person is intoxocated, talkin trash, or just has no idea what he or she is talking about. 80% of the time jib jab is followed by an ass whoppin.”
My commentator’s eloquence and the dictionary’s warning remind me of William Wordsworth’s similar sentiments from two centuries ago:
The Tables Turned
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
So on this fine spring day I am conflicted. Both nature and several unread books call sweetly to me. Decisions, decisions …