Post type: fleeting thought
Certainty: Speculative
Words are curious little things, aren't they? They're ultimately just random collections of noises and symbols that we've given meaning to. Words on their own are empty vessels—they become useful only when filled with the meaning we imbue them with.
But what's even more curious is that certain assemblages of words can induce the most delightful and contemplative bouts of thinking in our minds. And all of this happens quite randomly.
I had Spotify on shuffle, playing some old classics, when "Simple Man" by Lynyrd Skynyrd came on. There's a part where a mother gives her son advice on how to live a simple, grounded life. It's an evocative song—one that instantly sent my mind spiraling into a flood of thoughts: how to live simply and meaningfully, what money really means, the limits of desire, and what it truly takes to live a good life.
Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman, yeah, and you'll find love
And don't forget son there is someone up aboveAnd be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me son, if you can?Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul
And you can do this, oh, baby, if you try
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied
The next song that stole my attention was Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks." Inspired by the great Mississippi flood, it's a haunting reflection on displacement and the loss of home. Hearing it unleashed a quiet storm of philosophical questions—what does home really mean? What does it feel like to lose it? One random segment of the song set my mind racing in a dozen directions, sparking questions I didn't even know were waiting there.
If it keeps on raining, levee's going to break
If it keeps on raining, the levee's going to break
When the levee breaks, have no place to stay
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan, oh
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan
It's got what it takes to make a monkey man leave his home
Oh well, oh well, oh well, ooh
The next song that came on after "When the Levee Breaks" was "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones. Once again, it stirred thoughts of war and the fragility of home. As I listened, the same mental pattern emerged—my questions about the idea of home grew even deeper. And all of it was sparked by nothing more than the capriciousness of Spotify's algorithm.
Ooh, a storm is threatening
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Ooh yeah, I'm gonna fade awayWar, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot awayOoh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost your way
Just a few days before this, I was reading Maria Popova's blog where she mentioned that one of her favorite songs is Nick Cave's "Joy." So I went and listened to it, watching the video as YouTube rotated comments on screen. One comment appeared with a lyric from the song: "We've had too much sorrow, now is the time for joy." What a profound line in a poignant song about grief, hope, and the pursuit of joy.
Then I saw a movement
Then I saw a movement around
Then I saw a movement around my narrow bed
I saw a movement around my narrow bed
A ghost in giant sneakers, laughing stars around his head
Have mercy on meSat down on the narrow bed, this flaming boy
Who sat down on the narrow bed, this flaming boy said
"We've all had too much sorrow, now is the time for joy"
Again, this delightful assemblage of words provoked the most beautiful chain of thoughts in my head—unleashing a tornado, a whirlwind of associations, thoughts, feelings, emotions, and experiences both lived and imagined.
This is the first time I've really reflected on this peculiar power that words have over our imaginations and psyches. It's remarkable: all it takes is three or four words assembled in a special way, and they can induce the most delightful reveries, contemplations, and introspections—chains of thought you probably wouldn't have pursued on your own.
Another recent example of a sequence of words setting my brain racing, albeit a funny one, was rediscovering one of my favorite quotes after a long time: Jean-Paul Sartre's famous line, "Hell is other people." So true, isn't it?
Why does this happen? Again, I don't have a complete answer, but at least in my case, it's having an appreciation for the beauty of words and their alchemical properties. Because what words ultimately are is just random squiggly lines assembled in a particular way, and yet these squiggly lines can induce thought alchemy in your head and conjure phenomenal insights. If that's not real alchemy, I don't know what is.
But I think what fosters these serendipitous meetings with delightful thoughts is being curious about one's life, curious about all the things in the world. Having an outward-seeking mindset—or rather, a better way of putting it is having a very receptive mindset. Being open to ideas, experiences, moments that walk up to you, stand in front of you, say hi, and then slap the shit out of you with their unexpected power.
I think that openness, that receptive mindset, is the intermediary that arranges these meetings between words and the memories, thoughts, and associations stored in our brains.
But writing this post has led me to another realization: our ability to daydream, our ability to engage in reverie and contemplation, our ability to introspect—all of this seems to come from weird, random, and chaotic associations of different ideas, concepts, events, and histories. To borrow Matt Ridley's metaphor of "ideas having sex," it's our memories, emotions, and lived experiences having furious sex.
If this assumption is true, then maybe a big part of living well is accumulating as many associations and experiences as possible, so that you can live a life with vivid interiority. The richer your web of experiences, memories, and encounters, the more material your mind has to work with when those moments of unexpected connection arise.
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