An ontological overview of various heuristic models of deficit inspiration
It was a cynically subtle rule in the 70s, that if you wrote a humanities thesis using either “ontological” or “heuristic” in the title, you were almost assured publication in some journal. I think the reason for this was that people who used ontological and heuristic a lot were cynical and subtle, and tended to stick together. I didn’t run with that herd, because I didn’t use those words much, probably because my thesis was in the area of health sciences. My advisor submitted the 100% cotton bond culmination of my efforts to some arcane European journal, but I never followed its fate. Life’s phases need life’s fast-forward buttons.
I suppose Oikos mou is ontological and heuristic: I examine various aspects of being, and try various new approaches with various degrees of self-evaluated success and error. Arguably, each post is a paradigm shift in itself; I say arguably, but it isn’t something I would argue. My latest foray into heuristic ontology is the intermittent appearance and disappearance of a flying turtle named Rosebud. I figure there is always a calculated risk that something like this is going to be the precipitating event to urge some already unsettled readers to jump ship entirely. And I say, hey, there is a vast sea of blogs out there, and happy swimming. Oikos mou is a small island I never thought to be a universal refuge. Its stony turf is not for careless readers — which probably explains why the ship bearing my quarter-million-dollar advance has yet to arrive.
If the ship bearing my advance were to arrive, I would probably spend the entire cargo in one place, most likely rural Idaho. Or, feeling overly constrained by the terms of the contract, I would forfeit the bounty. The whole thing would just be so upsetting.
I had to think about something else kind of upsetting this morning: one of my friends who thought I would know, asked me whether I thought the BP oil spill signaled the death of the oceans and the end of the world. I honestly didn’t think so; after all, God is sovereign, not big men or big oil, and the word of God is very clear that God, not big men or big oil, will end the world. God sits in the heavens and laughs, and holds men in derision, and does whatsoever he pleases as he beholds their delusions of power.
The end of the world is a happy prospect in the long run. And between now and the end of the world or my time in it — and I am resigned to the latter being more likely to come first — following the undulations of goldfinches, the purposeful liveliness of honeybees, and a few perky Wilson’s warblers in my backyard — oh, and an occasional low-flying turtle overhead — provide sufficient satisfaction to belay anxious thoughts of the end of the world. I know Agur would understand.