Reflective Wanderer

I have a theory that goes something like this: all of cognition is based on ideals. They are changeable ideals, of course; they exist in the mind and act as its controls. Everyone has a set of ideals or dreams that constitutes their ideal self and correct world. This grows and is added to and taken from constantly, imperceptibly even. Logic and reason, fancy and personality, culture and experience, all go into this unique bundle of pre-perceptions that make up a person. They serve as a judge and a goal, a comfort and a prod towards the kind of life they are building themselves into. Sometimes I amuse myself by putting form to how I guess other people’s ideals are colored. Like this person is made up of a shot of the cowboy, excuses this behavior by pleading a bit of the joker, yet secretly wants the idyllic Anne of Green Gables life, with a shake of the Hebrew prophet, mixed with a splash of Johnny Cash. Sounds like a bit of clash? Good, because people are complex. Have you ever met someone and thought, “man, that girl must have seen this movie, their ideals seem saturated with it?” Or categorized a person as one who feels like a scene from this movie, a bit of this Bible verse, a snatch from this song, jumbled with the color mauve, and should be an uncle? Think of the idea of the Byronic hero; that’s only one of the millions of molds, which are transforming and borrowing from a myriad of sources all around, molding us in their likeness. It is a story we tell ourselves about ourselves, which justifies ourselves to ourselves. We all play out a living narrative. This seems to tie into how we were created. Each person is longing to be a part of the grand drama of creation as sons and daughters of God. A part of something outside of self, that gives meaning to what we are, and direction to who we should be. In the final analysis our flimsy personal stories are engulfed by the meta-narrative of the City of God and its contrasting City of Man, or at least so it seems.