"I once awoke from a dream convinced that
I could learn the meaning of life by looking into a paper bag,
but the magical formula also required a pair of scissors,
a carton of 2% milk, a green marker, and something else.
Problem is, I haven't been able to remember that something else.
If it ever comes to me I'll look inside and let you know."
[Shaman of Luthur (me), "Welcome to My Mind" (30 May 99)]

It's been a while since I've written, and I'm glad to be back to it. When last I sat here, I had my ridiculous dream about the meaning of life (as represented by a paper bag, green marker, scissors, 2 liters of skim milk, and one other as-yet-unnamed item) in my head, and I've still had it milling about in the recesses of my adled brain, so being I felt like writing this evening, here's another piece of my puzzle:

The paper bag represent the human body, your body. You only get one. Every paper bag, right out of the factory, out of the wrapper, is so pristine, so flawless. There are seams and marks only where there's supposed to be. But over time, every paper bag transforms. Wrinkles develop, and possibly tears. Eventually, they all look the same - that sad, rounded, wrinkle-covered sack. Pretty soon, while the bag can still serve its original purpose, you have doubts about just how much longer it'll be good for, as you gaze upon it and so readily see the wear. And there is no turning back time on the paper bag. You can shore it up with tape or whatnot, but a tear is a tear - it cannot be undone. In the expanse of time, the condition of the paper bag travels in only one direction - toward its destiny as that sad, round, wrinkel-covered sack.

We are no different. Pristine we enter the world. But as time moves forever forward, we wrinkle with age. We tear and scar. And the serious damage we do to our own bodies - the "tears" - these can never be undone. We plod on until, at least, we can carry life no more.

This isn't a terrible or disheartening thing. This is a mere reality of human existence. And so long as we accept it - and respect it - we can make the most of our time, take care of our paper bag as best we're able, and make it last.

Winter is always a terrible time for my body, as the treacherous walking on icy roads wrecks havoc with my lower back muscles, and the cabin-fever drives me to overeat without much exercise. But this year, as I embark on an interesting life change (moving back in with Dad), I will endeavour to take better care of my paper bag than I have in the past. And perhaps, by taking better care of my body, I can take better care of my mind.