There is something to be said about confronting one's mortality. I don't mean the flashing of one's life before one's eyes before the car wraps itself around a tree kind of confrontation. I mean being confronted with the deterioration of one's body and the message of mortality therein.
Suddenly , as one lies there actually forced to face the fact that this whole shindig is going to come to a screeching halt in a couple of decades, one realizes all the things that remains to be done. There is a certain paring down that comes into play until life is whittled down to its bare essentials.
It isn't meaning that one is concerned with anymore. In fact , there is a certain regret at the hours wasted in the constant whys and wherefores. I mean, honestly, if the constant belly-aching had yielded results that would be a different story. But honestly, who's going to solve a question that has been asked through several thousands of years with not an answering blip in sight. Not me.
So, yes, this is finite. I'm not sure about the rest. I mean, at this point I don't even know if I care that much about the rest. But this right here- it's heartrendingly finite. I follow a blog and the person who maintains calls it SLOW LOVE LIFE. I began looking at it because it was so pretty. The author had of course her own reasons for starting it. I have made it a place I go to to see how ephemeral everything around me is. Ephemeral and beautiful.
Astonishingly, I find all of this a relief. It's become simpler really. And complicated. A complicated simplicity. Like cherry blossoms. The transience and beauty and simplicity. They're there. They're beautiful. Then they're gone. I'm here. I'm whatever it is that I am. And then, one day I will be gone. Simple really. Don't you think?
Suddenly , as one lies there actually forced to face the fact that this whole shindig is going to come to a screeching halt in a couple of decades, one realizes all the things that remains to be done. There is a certain paring down that comes into play until life is whittled down to its bare essentials.
It isn't meaning that one is concerned with anymore. In fact , there is a certain regret at the hours wasted in the constant whys and wherefores. I mean, honestly, if the constant belly-aching had yielded results that would be a different story. But honestly, who's going to solve a question that has been asked through several thousands of years with not an answering blip in sight. Not me.
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Astonishingly, I find all of this a relief. It's become simpler really. And complicated. A complicated simplicity. Like cherry blossoms. The transience and beauty and simplicity. They're there. They're beautiful. Then they're gone. I'm here. I'm whatever it is that I am. And then, one day I will be gone. Simple really. Don't you think?
