Crunchy Toast Cannon

Crunchy toast cannon
On Thursday morning, I experienced the delight of witnessing bread shoot like a crunchy cannon from my friends toaster. I laugh even now, recalling the brown bread rocketing itself into the air, to escape consumption, only to meet the floor with a thud, be picked up, buttered and eaten with a lovely poached egg (it could not escape either), nestled on top.

Giving things a personality
I am laughing again because I personify everything. I don't mean in a spiritual ritualistic way, as in all things have spirit, more like the toast, the egg, the butter all get talked to, and they come alive in my imagination. The toast clearly did not want to be eaten, thus it jumped from the hotbed it had been placed in, catapulting itself with a pop, over the counter that served as cliff from which it dove, hoping to swim away from humans... it might have worked too, if there had only been water below. This is how I entertain myself. 

Next my searching for answers side presents, looking for meaning, for how this all relates to me, and my existence or perhaps, those with whom I share intimate life. I am now looking for a modicum of meaning, something to make sense of an all too human approach to life, that many seem committed to being engrossed in. The leaping without looking.

What will you hit, down below?

Leaping without first looking
If I am to be utterly honest, I must go in the direction of death and being rather morose. Recently I told readers that they are apples, that they have not fallen far from their family tree. Maybe today, I must tell you that you are a piece of toast, launching yourself into a free fall, only to hit the ground hard and get eaten up, chewed and swallowed whole, no matter your many ill planned attempts at escaping. 

Escaping what, I hear you ask? Well if you are toast, you are made for consumption. If you are human, you are made for meaning, and if this truth escapes you, if you attempt to avoid and evade this reality, you are just a being leaping and falling toward the grave with no safety net, no water to break your free fall. One life is meaningful, another hasn't a modicum, even a shred of meaning. 

Harsh reality, isn't it?

Is truth a private, exclusive club?
It is my black and whiteness, my good and evil, right and wrong, life and death approach that I cannot resist. I have an insatiable urge to live and tell the truth. Truth is the only thing that has any worth, any value, and this drives me with a desire to shout it from rooftops. I have some good company but there are many others that have me beg the question, is this an exclusive private club or can anyone join?

We are accountable
You and me, we were made with a purpose in mind. I am not an apple, or a piece of toast. I am human and I must, of necessity, look before I leap; check where I will be landing; make sure I don't squish anyway or take someone down with me, when I decide that now is the time to take the plunge. All this said, dear one, to ultimately say this one thing. 

You and me, we are accountable. Making a life filled with meaning requires taking care, and never leaving the toaster just cuz it got a little hot in there.

Are you an apple or a piece of toast? I think not
I will end with a grin:

• Are you an unthinking apple or piece of toast that cannot comprehend consequences? 
• Do you look before you leap? 

If you don't, perhaps you can begin today, to be accountable for every little thing you say, and do dear reader. Perhaps today is the day you go back into the toaster, and finish getting crunchy

Life is so much fun, isn't it?