A Product of Mud?

All winter I looked forward to spring each time I waded through the six inches of mud in the corral. As I slogged along cussing every step of the way, I recalled that I complained just as much the winter it never fell below freezing. I complained when it was bitterly cold and I had to enter the Portal of Hell to turn on the heater. Every winter I complain about something. Just to change it up, mother nature served up two seasons of extreme mud. Mud on my clothes, mud on the sidewalk and both sets of steps into the house. Muddy paw prints. My car was caked inside and out with mud. There was mud all over the back of my legs and clothes when I exited the car. I tried mightily not to complain but alas, I could not help myself. Spring arrived despite all of my complaints but I guarantee that before long I will be whining over how damned hot it is. (It is a boring life when the weather puts you in a mood.)

When I am not complaining, I am considering - pondering the big (and small) mysteries of life. Big mystery: what the hell are we all doing here? Small mystery: looking at the pink crayon gave me a headache as a child. I do not know the answer to either mystery and I do not know who or what can provide definitive answers. I have sampled various philosophies and different spiritualities in my adult life and, honestly, no one has THE answers. There are millions of people who believe they have the answer. They think they are the only ones who know. So much suffering and death have resulted from that blind certainty! It just does not make sense to me, so out of necessity, I come up with my own explanation. Here is what I am sure of so far: humans have total free will. We can commit the most horrific crimes against one another, against animals, against the earth herself and no higher being will stop us. Maybe these physical lives are for us to learn to choose to be loving instead of hateful. Maybe.

I do not know WHY I am here, how I got here, who is responsible for me being here but I am undeniably here and aware. I do not think consciousness simply evolved out of the primordial mud, so when I pray, I pray to the highest, most sacred. Some thing is responsible for me being here. A "creator" of some sort placed me here in this physical body that mysteriously has a strange allergy to the color pink. It seems entirely unlikely to me that because a few molecules formed in muddy water at the dawn of time, consciousness evolved - something with no physical properties evolving out of physical substances? Nope. A brain is certainly not the source of consciousness. That is one thing the Buddhists have determined in their long centuries of contemplative discipline.

This is as far as I have managed to get in my investigation. I am sorely limited by my IQ - and lack of education - and the small amount of spare time left over from complaining about the weather, eating, and fighting with people on the internet. Still, not bad for an evolved clump of mud.

Would mere mud have been able to invent the sacred machinery?