When I was young I thought that life was ultimately fair; yes bad things happened but in the end other events somehow equalized out the bad and life was made whole and right again. This is what I thought my life pattern would be: bad, good, bad, good, horrible, great and continual back and forth until in the end I died and at that time I would move on to something new, different...into the mystic. And in all of this I thought as I aged, I would grow in mind and spirit I would grow stronger and wiser and life would somehow be easier, because I knew just what to expect of life
Now that I am older and there are many more days behind me than there are ahead of me I realize that life, at least my life, does not appear to get easier. There is the dreams not realized, the great love not found, the success not grasped, the words I never could find to make things better or right could never yell over the walls I encountered. Aging has become a series of shoulda, coulda, woulda and that speck, that kernel of reality that sits in the center, that is my life.
My life has been blessed and of this I never doubt. I often say I live by Grace, because without it I would have been dead or living in poverty at this point, but I am not, I have more than I need and often more than I want. I learned a long time ago that "things" do not make for my happiness, they do not fill up the holes or quiet the noise in my heart, often they don't go even as far as to amuse me.
It is said that Love is everything, maybe, I am not sure of that. I have loved, but it eluded me or I eluded it, but either way Love and I are estranged. Love and I are the two proverbial ships that passed in the night.
Another saying (people say a lot of stuff don't they?) is that family is everything. At this point in my life I like what another group of people said, "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family." Or as the song goes...let it go...let it go....
Robert Frost said : In three words I can sum up everything I learned about life...it goes on.
And so it does and as it goes on I hope that I never stop looking, reaching and trying to understand who it was I was supposed to be while I was here or if that is even a part of the journey...maybe I just am. I am taking up space until I die and return to the earth again. I could make an argument about cremation on that thought alone. Why do we allow our bones to take up continued space while we are gone, because really what were we to begin with ....energy...matter...and then...gone. The cemetery plot, the tombstone, the coffin inside the cement vault is just another way to hold on to being. However when we die we are somewhere we are not supposed to be when in reality the most important part of us is gone, so should we just not return to dust, to the earth?