Illusion

Our brain does an amazingly good job of organizing random photon bounces into a meaningful and useful construction of objects in our world. Sometimes, of course, it can be mistaken and create an illusion.

An illusion is anything that cannot be confirmed by other senses, logic, or outside observers. Upon examination, what we thought was a snake in the grass may turn out to be a vine (or vice versa!) Consistent verification by alternate means yields what we call a fact.

Agreeing with others’ opinions does not necessarily dispel illusions. Many of us may believe there is a snake when there is none. One viewpoint with one sense is not fully reliable, even for a group.

There has always been an equivalent problem with knowledge, writing, culture. How can we determine illusion? Does it matter anyway? If Alexander the Great is a myth, not real in a factual sense, does it affect me? Who cares? A lot of facts are (in fact) pretty irrelevant.

Today we are fed illusions by the bushel. The internet is filled with influencer sorcerers weaving visions. For most of them we have no way to test validity except with the opinions of others. Is anything we think we know a “fact” or an “illusion”.

Yet, we act on illusions all the time. I may run away from our imaginary snake. A whole mob may run away from an imaginary dangerous illusion. We vote based on compelling illusionary advertising.

Perhaps that’s no more dangerous than it ever was. Most cultured belief has always been of that nature. There is comfort in believing that an untested cohesive illusion is fact. At some point, we may be shocked to encounter factual reality

Sometimes

We are blessed with a mercurial mind. Sometimes, for example, we feel a mastery of our particular universe. Other times we feel helpless. Sometimes we drift entirely out of this time and space, vividly imagining things that never were nor will be.

It’s a gift of our strange over-developed consciousness. Perhaps even an evolutionary trick to comfort us through pain and hard times, when pure logic would surrender and die. A reminder that no matter how sophisticated we may consider ourselves, we truly exist in not one, but infinite (and infinitely varied) dream times.

Ask me what I know of the future and I would honestly answer “nothing”. But that does not prevent me from sometimes imagining possibilities or what is likely to happen. These visions may inspire or terrify, make me wish I could stick around to find out, or be grateful I will never endure. As I said, mercurial.

Sometimes I do in fact believe I have lived in the best of all possible worlds. An easily disproved conceit. I worry about how things have changed: climate, AI, society. And yet, when I try, I remember so many things I once worried about that never came to pass. Sometimes even the nostalgic past can be a mirage.

While life continues, sometimes also, in its astounding variety and kaleidoscopic fractals.

Locally Infinite

I’ve always admired William Blake’s poem “To see the world in a grain of sand”. Although it has helped guide me through life, I find it more and more useful right now. How heaven, I discover, really is in that dandelion brilliant yellow in my lawn .

Our consumer culture has few advocates for common local miracles. No money in that! You must buy some exotic bloom, visit some distant garden, watch a feature on TV. The farther you travel, the more you spend, the more rare something is, the more the universe will smile on you.

But that grain of sand is composed of star stuff, the end result of billions of years and massive forces, just as much as any mountain, however high. In the proper frame of mind, just as inspiring. With proper regard, just as beautiful and meaningful .

And importantly for elders – more confined than we were in youth – that dandelion and that grain of sand are right here, right now. I need go nowhere. Simply open my mind and appreciate existence. The best things in life may not be free, but the definitions of both are flexible .

I’ve gradually become able to focus on the local. To be grateful for anything I can sense or think about. To truly appreciate “eternity in an hour” .

Roses

All the roses on the patio are magnificently in bloom. Joan picked them out years ago, we don’t do any special care, but they perform wonderfully year after year. In another part of the yard we have a survivor from her youth, over 60 years ago .

All life is amazing. For most people, flowers are especially beautiful. Roses please us because of years of careful selection and breeding. A common joy it is too easy to take for granted .

As I think and write my mind feels with interesting (to me) dimensions, echoes, lessons. A rose is a trigger to “deeper” issues. But I ignore that today. Sometimes one should just accept and enjoy the world as it is, this moment of now .

An important aspect is simply visceral. I took no special trip, I am looking at no formal media presentation. When I go out there is heat, sunlight. If I’m not careful, thorns. Scents, in back of me birds crying and a tiny chipmunk running by. In a word, “existence’ itself. Unadorned and infinite .

Finally there is memory and transience. And “this same flower that blooms today tomorrow will be dying.” Long ago summers recalled, rose gardens elsewhere. Even the sad certain knowledge that this is all to vanish, finally retreat to winter to come .

All this from some common roses in a small backyard. Ah, a lesson there I am sure, but I shall not pursue it today .

Tick Terror

Lately a litany of ills has people around here huddling inside in fear. Deadly fevers from mosquitoes, flesh eating bacteria in the water, invisible plagues in the air. Ticks with strange and horrible diseases .

The common denominator is that the culprits are tiny or invisible. Also ubiquitous if you are in the wrong area. It’s quite difficult to avoid water at the beach, air on the patio, or grass in the park.

Ticks are my favorite public overreaction. Mosquitoes invisibly come from anywhere and bite you right away, germs are generally thinly dispersed, flesh eating is quite rare. Ticks cannot run, jump, nor fly. They’re quite slow and deliberate, and take a pretty long time to climb to wherever they want, dig in, and begin to feed. Lots of opportunity to find and get rid of them if you look.

But folks imagine them as some miniscule land variant of the great white shark. Stalking the grasslands ready to pounce. Dropping from the sky on the unwary. Cleverly racing up legs to hide under socks or shorts. Evolving to be impervious to insect repellent .

The good news for me is that most park visitors remain on paved road. To them, grass is toxic, woodland trails forbidden. I ignore the signs and check now and then, always when I have finished my hike. No problem. But – well – the trails are lovely and empty for us adventurous types, apparently courting death or worse . I often receive incredulous stares from the crowds on the macadam.

As I often tell my 10-year-old grandson, the great thing to be really truly afraid of here on Long Island is not ticks, mosquitoes, bacteria, or sharks, but cars and the impatient maniacs who drive them.

Daffodils

By Memorial Day, drifts of golden daffodils are long gone. Waves of various flowers are now culminating with rose blooms. Yet the memory remains .

Most of us in the northern climate love daffodils. They are reliably perennial, even spreading into thick patches, in sunlight or various degrees of shade. Before grass greens in the fields. Massive, interestingly shaped, more long-lasting than the earlier crocuses. Left forgotten and untended for years, usually surviving.

My gardening wife gets a little annoyed that the residual leaf bunches clog the garden as they store energy for the next year. I dutifully tie them into tiny tidy bundles to leave her room to put in lots of annuals – which are themselves beautiful but a lot more work. For example, I never have to weed or water daffodils …

Is there a deeper meaning here? Nope. I guess I wish all introduced species acted so civilly in the ecology. Daffodils are simply a spring delight, something to cheerfully remind us that time is passing. And that the temporary joys of our life are as miraculous and wonderful as any long-term dreams .

Like all the varied displays of the seasons around here, in itself beautiful, meditative, and ready to settle me into my place in the rhythm of the years .

Note: I usually write essays a few months ahead to allow them to settle and for editing.

Medical Mess

Social systems, like organisms, are often insanely complex and convoluted. “Simple” things like an animal taking a step invoke nearly infinitely complicated signals, even after we discount the infinite underlying reactions keeping life going.

Any crackpot or “normal” person tends to believe if we “just keep it simple” we could clean up a social system such as medicine and make it cheaper, more responsive, and more robust. After all, how hard could it be?

Ask a biologist what’s involved in a deer strolling across a meadow. And don’t forget things like all the trillions of ATP cellular reactions.Fixing a social system is even worse. Like organisms, social systems are not isolated but exist in an ecology.

Reform may, in fact, be impossible. What often happens instead is extinction or replacement by creatures invading the territory.

I suspect we are in such a situation. Most of our cultural systems are complicated ancient relics that still work but are increasingly susceptible to extinction or replacement.

Not “fixing them up”, not “evolution”, but vanishing into irrelevance.

Medical coverage and practice among them .

In such cases, it seems better to concentrate on “why” rather than “how”. Presumably our AI masters will produce all the answers necessary.

Not sure we will like those much .

Microcultures

For a while, “microclimates” were as much in vogue in viniculture as “terroir.” Any gardener knows that growth conditions vary immensely in small spaces – sun, shade, wet, dry, exposed, sheltered. Some plants do well in one kind of space, not so well in another. When it gets to the size of a large hill or a sizable pond – ah! Microclimate !

Naturally there are limits. A lake may moderate heat locally in summer, but deep winter – macro climate – will be harsh. No matter how “protected,” really deep cold will kill vines. And unusual events like hail, drought, fire, or disease respect no tiny differences .

Yet “microclimate” is real enough. It is where vines, animals and nature exist most of the time. Just as what I will call “microcultures“ where an individual resides in society. Family, friends, surroundings. The tiny and local is usually the most significant element of our consciousness, day by day .

Yes, there are greater things that override it. War, economics, technology, social movements. But that does not make microcultures any less real nor – much of the time – less important than grand historic events .

So, like any adaptive species, try to enjoy your current microculture, or find one more compatible. Even if it is just hanging out with people you like .

Fit for Spring

Many people know that evolution involves “survival of the fittest” although sometimes that really implies “survival of the luckiest”. Too many also assume fitness is a rabid struggle of tooth and claw. Not always .

Consider flowers. Yes, they need to be adapted to environment. But for hundreds of millions of years flowers have also “fought” to have attractive blooms for pollinators, and fruit which will be eaten by mobile animals to allow species dispersal .

Odd things can be involved in fitness. Around here, most of the spring blooms – all magnificent right now – are either invasive or human cultivated species. Cherry trees, magnolias, forsythias are breathtaking. Daffodils and tulips blanket flower beds everywhere. In the current suburban environment, pure beauty can be “fitness” for a plant.

Even more surprising, recognizing “beauty” can be fitness for animals. Bees need to head for the right flowers, by sight or scent. Animals need to locate sugary pulp. Surely some of this has actively worked and is still working on our own human sensibilities .

But surprisingly, around me, beauty is its own reward, causing me to smile, neighbors to spend money, and all of us to be delighted with the floral displays of April .

Blizzard

Blizzards, like everything else, are not what they used to be. Oh, snow and wind remain, but consequences tend to be trivial. In 1888, a Long Island blizzard killed hundreds, caught unexpectedly in the fields after a warm spring day. In my youthful 1950s, extended electric outage had my mom chopping up furniture to keep the fireplace going. The current “historic” blizzard of 2026 didn’t even bring down many trees, cause extensive disruption of electricity, close roads more than a day, much inconvenience shoppers or let children have a holiday .

It’s a quite robust world for things that we can prepare for. I not only do not complain, but am in awe at how truly competent our society can be. Not only blizzards, but also other disasters, plagues, and extended patterns like drought, famine. War, of course, remains. And the stubborn, if limited, evil of certain individuals .

Anyway, for a day or so we all enjoyed a true frisson of dangerous disruption. All the better because reality turned out far gentler than imagination. We are quite spoiled .

I try to emphasize that all the time. To be grateful for the normal, the calm, the taken for granted. Glory in how much lives have truly improved for many over the last few centuries. For a little while, to truly embrace the miracles of economic progress .