Is the Force Real?
When you read a book, or you hear someone speak, and it affects you deeply, where does it go?
I finished a book a couple days ago. And the ending was amazing. And I really can’t recall it right now.
As a matter of fact, when I’m reading a book, I never skip a word, and I read parts over and over if I lose attention. But from one page to the next, I can’t really tell you what’s… I can’t remember what was what. But if I go back and read it, I remember it.
I don’t know how that works.
But it definitely all goes somewhere.
I seem to always use it later. Whether I’m writing parts with someone, or I’m writing myself, or this dumb blog, it comes out.
But the good news is I don’t have to know how it works.
Which seems to be a running theme for this week: not worrying about the how, but just recognizing that it’s happening.
And having the faith that when you read a book or you seek out a great song, it goes somewhere.
A couple weeks ago, I was really blown away by a bunch of Charlatans tracks—or, as we called them over here in the USA, Charlatans UK.
They’re in there now too, I guess. Cocked and ready for later use. But who knows when I’ll pull them off the bench.
I do think roads and bridges are amazing when I’m driving around, but even more incredible is this memory. And how stuff is stored, and how it’s accessed, and how it comes out.
To me, it’s hopeful proof of a big, huge unconscious floating out there somewhere.
Maybe that’s what we all go join when we die. I don’t know.
But I know it exists. I know it’s always around, just under the surface.
Because I use it every day.
That’s how you can do things and take your mind out of it. And just use the Force.
Oh. Maybe the Force is real.