Monday, June 2, 2014

Ontological Angst

Lord David Muir, Scottish bard, storyteller, and evangelist visited the L'Abri manor house this past week. I told him that I taught Descartes in my classes--and the next day he told me he had written me a poem. Here it is:

“Ontological Angst” by Lord David Muir

I think; therefore I am, I think
But sometime I will cease to be
So then what happens to my thought?
A problem of ontology

I think but the content of my thought
It seems to matter not at all
And so I think, and so I live
And while I live, I have a ball

But while I live, Ah, there’s the rub
What thought comes beyond this coil
When others rise beyond this life
And I am left to be despoiled

Ontology then is not a cure
For all of life’s circumstance
I’ve heard there’s cure for all life’s ills
And he is called “Lord of the Dance.”

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