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08 November 2006 @ 11:02 am
Theatrical Muse: Week 151: Question 151  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 918


The moral of the story is...


Many moments in life have a moral to them. Atypical ones are things like, seize the day, be cautious, not all that shimmers is gold and, oh, something such as take one step at a time and don’t rush things. People come up with different things to say at the end of a situation, which sums up any of the important lessons learned during the experience. What we are thinking at the end of an experience, helps us remember the knowledge we have gained because of that particular period of time, instead of mentally having to relive and recheck all the facts about it. We craft morals in order to keep knowledge and to pass that knowledge on, one day, to someone else.

Cooking is an experience full of important morals. They aren’t so much, mentally overwhelming bits of factual information, but they serve the purpose well enough. Don’t touch a hot stove is an extremely good one, placed, appropriately, and unfortunately, at the end of someone having burned themselves on a hot stove, thus learning the moral of that particular story. Often enough, as this makes evident, morals are only true to someone once they have lived the experience through. Of course, you can pass on morals, and indeed people do, but some significant, yet ultimately not life threatening ones never really ring home until the person has personally come to the end conclusion that produces them.


Enough of the psychological claptrap though. I suppose, the probe today is, what is the moral of my story. First off, the best true answer for me is that, where right and wrong is concerned in relation to my life, then I, as myself, I have many morals. There are many important things that I have learnt, that, as the dictionary goes, pertain to a right code of conduct, whether my own, the one of society, or of someone else. Here again I dawdle because I am trying to decide on the best one, even if, really, there is no single, best. I will start then, perhaps, with something much like a story, or in reality, a vaguely translucent explanation of words I find difficult to express.


In life, love is often found, whether through a person, an object, a thing, an act or an experience. A life lived without love can be, and often is, quite a dismal affair, and one that is rarely ever harnessed as a working cycle. Worse yet, such a thing comes about by only the existence of the most hardened of people. Therefore, most of the human population of the world is capable of love, of giving and receiving something that is full of adoration and compassion. We are not always loving, and thus we get war, destruction and vicious vilification within our lives. The human experience results as a both a bit of give and take, and often something like luck, chance or circumnavigated happenstance.

As a human being, I have been generally lucky in my life to find love, in great amounts. I met my wife at an early age, and knew, within a very short time of meeting her, what we would be together, and some notion of where we would end up. I loved her truly, and for that I am extremely, externally, thankful, because I know that, such a thing, in reality, does not happen with regular occurrence. I have, or had, two lovely sons because of my wife, and I loved them too, dearly, very dearly, with much compassion and lasting wit.

And one day, they were gone, they vanished off the face of the Earth, were extinguished with one flick, with one final, infinitely lasting decision made by a bunch of people I never personally knew or interacted with. Having come to the end of the story, and having never given much thought to the fact that it would end that way, I went for some time, without a true moral in mind. Of course, the old adage prevails, that it is better to have loved and lost to have never loved at all, but, what I had with my wife, with my children, was something more than what could be summed up in words that already existed.


After time had passed, and some thought had been given to the end fact, I did come to some sort of conclusion, or moral, as it were, even though I was never really trying to get a moral out of my situation in the first place. So, I conclude my story with this thoughtful notion.

In my life, I have had my capacity to love tried and tested, and I have tried honestly, as who I am, to always act with some sort of correct justification. I have experienced love, from many different ranges, from many different people, and I enjoy the experience, for what it is worth. I once had a wife and two children, and now, I do not. And so, I receive no active love from them anymore, as physical beings. That does not, however, make the love they gave me while they lived, any less important or vital. So, the moral in this lies that, love, is love. It is to be treasured and remembered as a person sees fit. Love is all encompassing, and with love, even terrible things, occurrences, can still see a person find comfort within their duration. Love is love. It is important, it lasts, and it can be remembered, always.
 
 
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