Quarter of eleven at night.
The dreams during my nap were superstitious; some stuff about ghosts and spirits that can’t be explained logically, yet many people believe them anyway by a leap of absurd faith that is largely unconscious. I suppose it’s a childlike thing people never grow out of, though the immaturity of it annoys me. A song comes to me from the early seventies:
See the funny little man…
In his search for something to build
Perhaps a church on the side of a hill
And the Moody Blues:
Building castles in the air
Whistling to the wind
As Nature bows down her head
See what tomorrow brings
So Romantic! And maybe it’s just human for people to be spiritual like children, in the tradition of Wordsworth. The real bugbear then is the existence of logic itself. As Yes puts it:
Far away, in the depths of Hawking’s mind
To the animal, the primalistic grind
You bring me reason, a simple fact of life
You don’t say you’re sorry
There’s also a book whose arguments are so compelling that I can’t finish reading it: it’s The Essential Plotinus. For him, nothing can exist without The One, which is the same as God. This ontological discussion I’m still unable to refute, and it drives me crazy because I don’t want to be wrong in my atheism. So the person being illogical was myself all along.