Small things can lead to large meditations _ “Infinity in a grain of sand.” I encourage that exercise. This morning, for example, I consider the blueberries on my breakfast cereal. Nothing remarkable, by common agreement. Marvelously present here and now.

Fresh blueberries in the winter _ the availability of all fresh produce _ is a very modern phenomenon. When I was young in the fifties, fruit besides apples was usually available as juice, canned, dried, and once in a while frozen. And that in itself would astound those who lived before 1900 or so.

But here I sit, usually complacent, eating berries grown in deep down south america, flown and distributed, and priced affordably. A miracle of modern commerce while at one and the same time a symbol of global ecologic devastation. I’m grateful, horrified, accepting.

So much of life in this century has become like that. We are wealthy beyond any dreams of ancient emperors, yet live in what increasingly seems an unsustainable web. Should we enjoy our good fortune? Lament our stupidity? Actively oppose what everyone (including our own secret selves) are grateful for? 

I don’t know. But I do think one of the elements of philosophy should be to pose such provocative questions. Futile as they may be.

“Umwelt” is a fancy word for the environment our organism perceives. I ran into it recently in a book about “alternate intelligence.” Intelligence, of course, is the perception and use of patterns _ you cannot use patterns you cannot detect.

To the author, that means that there are alternate perceptions to those of humans involving how plants and other animals exist. The point is to respect the differences, which I do. Modern technological civilization brims with destructive and oblivious power.

On the other hand, by any standard, human umwelt is uniquely massive. That is because each person has and develops a different one _ any one of us can flip through several ways of understanding the world. My wife sees dust on the shelf ,I do not; I observe tree shapes, she admires houses. Query us closely and one would find our worlds barely congruent.

More than that, humans can inhabit an imaginary umwelt that is probably closed off to most other species. These are illusory environments of tribal power, beauty, future, or a million other things any given person can consider important at any given time.

It is a wonder that we communicate at all. Such communication, in spite of umwelt, may be our own most powerful unique ability.

American English has an unusual connotation using the word “believe.” By itself it indicates what I think of some fact which can be proved or disproved. “I believe the moon causes tides.” But followed by “in” it indicates an unprovable personal intuition. “I believe in the moon.”

“Believe in” is thus a mystic marker. As soon as someone tells me they believe in something, I know I am on dangerous ground. You challenge what someone believes in only by stating what you believe in yourself. And we become entangled in an irrational argument which can never be resolved.

And it is amazing how a simple two-letter word can change the tone of a discussion. “I believe people are basically good” is fairly innocuous, inviting logical clarification or correction. “I believe in people” just sits absolute, where questioning it challenges the sanity and intentions of those who “believe in” it. 

In these times when science has truly become magic to many people, we are quickly reverting to simple shortcuts of conduct. Believing in anything announces that there is no use talking quietly, it is time to either shout or walk away.

It would be nice to find a way to bridge the gap.

Noisy ICE does not refer to thundering avalanches nor groaning Arctic seas. No, I mean the internal combustion engine, which grows in asymptotic intensity each year. Especially in suburbs with their addiction to power machines, automobiles, and leaf blowers.

Philosophers often treat a person as an isolate _ a mind possibly dealing with a body vaguely aware of its environment. And much thought is given to how that mind should control its body. But what space does that body expect?

Until very recently a person could encounter long stretches of near silence practically everyday and everywhere. Peasants in their fields, even city dwellers, had hours when the world went still except for nature. It was assumed to be normal, like having access to clean air.

But, alas, clean air vanished and required laws addressing pollution. But somehow we never got around to noise pollution _ more insidious, less immediately harmful, easily addressed with earphones and earplugs.

Now, at our house, dawn to dusk, all seasons, there is ice noise, near and far. By driving us into protective acoustic bubbles, it isolates us even more.

It is a possible human right ripe for legal exploration.

Western philosophy often seems to invoke a duality of mind and body. Or a tripartite division into mind, body and soul. Even deeper cross-sections, for example of mind into super-ego, ego, and id.

The most common metaphor is the charioteer, controlling his animal team to deliver himself where he has been directed to go. On examination that falls apart, and not only because we cannot figure out who is telling who to do what or why.

We consist of trillions of cells in an incomprehensible chemical dance. In some ways our consciousness is just along for the ride. Nobody can will themselves to not sleep, or to stop bleeding, nor even most basically to avoid death. And even trivial spasms from that vast assemblage of protoplasm _ like a toothache or a need to pee _ can subvert or end the most concentrated philosophic speculations.

Yin and yang don’t really describe us. Even holistic seems simplistic. We do, after all, often think of stuff at odds with our animal needs and reactions. We strive to be in control but we are also happy to simply drift in hedonistic leisure. In other words, it’s complicated. And chaotic quantum complication should be the starting point of how we begin to figure everything out. A belief in simplicity is illusion.

A roof is more or less the smallest attribute of shelter. A tree or cave keeps off sun and rain. As prosperity or climate needs advance, shelter requires walls, heat, windows, fire, light, electricity, water, and so on, up to and including internet connections today.  Still, you need that roof even more than a foundation.

Yet it is rarely noticed that shelter, like food, is not something we require every hour of the day. We are often happy to be out and about, naked to the elements, even in extreme conditions. But usually at least part of the night, everyday, we want someplace snug and secure in which we can rest.

Philosophers won’t care much about this topic.  Still, one of the core features of any culture is the type of places it builds. Transient camps, small towns, huge cities and all kinds of other places usually exist anywhere people do.  And it is obvious that the buildings people use is a profound expression of their inner culture.

Deconstruction, however, does not work, which is my point here.  You may learn a lot about people by examining their entire dwelling.  But to look at only the roof, window, or floor piece by piece in isolation _ as many experts tend to do in this scientific age _ will not deepen your understanding of their lives.

Being in awe of existence is natural and appropriate for everyone who can think. Trying to make rules for that miracle seems as futile as predicting the detailed future. Yet many religions have tried to do so, and many followers believe them.

Yet if something is inherently unknowable, trying to understand it is simply impossible. In religion’s own terms, attempting to constrain destiny is blasphemous. But there are always preachers and fanatics who know they can do so and want everyone else to believe they are right.

That is where “agnostic” becomes a special loaded term. If you tell me you can pull a large oak tree out of the ground with your bare hands, or lasso the moon, I am not “agnostic” to say I don’t think you can do it. I would simply be ignorant and foolish if I gave you the benefit of the doubt. If you tell me you can predict the detailed future, without proof, I should not give you a nickel. But let me say (for the sake of harmony) that “I do not share nor reject your inner visions” _ and I am labeled “agnostic.” It implies I would agree if only I would agree.

I prefer to accept intellectual limits. I cannot know my future. I cannot know the outcome of the universe. I cannot know what it all means. And I’m okay with those limits. After all, I’m stuck in a pretty limited body for a pretty limited stretch of objective time.

I don’t reject the religious impulse _I think religions can have moral value. But I will never and can never know it all. 

Identity is a crisis of the affluent. A peasant or slave most likely never worries about “who am I really?” But given time to think and a certain number of choices, a person worries about self-importance and being unique.

Mostly, in industrial society, folks do not want to be “just another brick in the wall.” Of course, for ourselves an inner perception of sanity requires me to be the most important element of my universe. But how do I translate that to being important in others perceptions _ at least as I perceive their perceptions?

Multiple answers. Brute force, social influence, wealth, moral probity. But the thing is _ none of them count for much unless others notice them.

Thus we arrive at the crux of the problems with the virtual age. In person, there is proof of identity required _ the wealth or force or beauty must be demonstrated. But in the virtual amorphousness, all that counts is how loud you shout. Not what you say or do or can actually demonstrate. 

Virtual mobs shout a lot. Virtual leaders shout loudest of all. And it does not matter what they are shouting about. Nor does it much matter when they inevitably quiet down and are replaced by the next ephemeral foghorn.

Our enlightened society claims that individuals are rarely responsible for the actions of others. I will not go to jail for murder if my father kills someone. 

Yet our religiously inspired politicians often do decide to punish children for the sins of their parents. If the mother lives in poverty with no job, she is judged a lazy shiftless bum. Regardless of whether that is true, the actual leverage is applied via her family. If they are starving, ill clothed, and badly sheltered with poor prospects for the future _ why then she will be motivated to work hard and become a productive citizen.

That has never worked, and spelled out it seems not only illogical but also outrageously cruel and evil. But those same politicians whine that it is worse to break up familial bonds of love. The only greater mistake, they claim, would be for the state to give parents something for nothing.

No matter that children in wealthy homes get a free ride. That is the judgment of heaven. Let the poor suffering little brats inspire their progenitors to work hard and become millionaires themselves.

Unfortunately, this thinking becomes increasingly easy in a populous electronic world, where there are no individual girls and boys _ just masses of statistics. The politicians may be good people but their religions leave something to be desired.

It is generally hypothesized that diurnal animals sleep because there is more to lose than gain with activity after dark. Further, that the brain uses this “downtime” to recover and heal. Some of that activity, for whatever reason, involves dreams.

It seems to me that before language, our predecessors’ large brains already dreamed, and I am amazed that the species survived. Even now it can be hard to tell dreams from reality. Without logic and words, how easy it must have been to jump off a cliff to fly away as you dreamed you could last night.

Well, I suppose evolution fixed that. But even now, it can be hard to tell the difference on occasion. History is filled with fanatics and visionaries who could not quite do so. I sometimes need to fight my way back after a particularly vivid episode, a few of which reoccur.

The key is that our brain is always taking disparate chemical and electrical signals and somehow creating senses and consciousness. And it can be tricked, as people with synesthesia prove, where sounds become smells, and touch turns into colors. No wonder it can make a lump in a bed or a mosquito whine or _ as Scrooge noted _ a piece of cheese turn into something of a story.

For all that, I would hate to give up dreams. They lie, but the good ones lie wonderfully and make me remember when I was young and strong. Even the bad ones deliver a thrilling jolt and relief when I wake up. But I am glad I can still realize that they are just dreams.