Live like this is your last moment (because it is)
Most of my hold up I've been acid for What Life is All About.
A poem you wrote when you was thirteen is my beginning recorded introspective about a cosmos, though I'm sure my pre-teen mind also was looking for answer's to life's big questions.
Having come to an age when my initial Social Security payment is due to be deposited in our checking account this month, you can inform which a little fifty years of philosophical, religious, mystical, scientific, as well as devout interrogation has led me to a simple three word conclusion:
This is it.
You're free to disagree. you can understand why you would.
Heck, I've disagreed with me -- a current version -- for many of my life. Believing in an afterlife, reincarnation, eternal soul, as well as transcendent realms of unchanging abnormal bliss supposing me with a lot of compensation for many years.
But if you're honest with yourself, as I've attempted to be with myself, you'll have to confess which your goal in a hold up after genocide is usually that: hope. Reality is something different.
Human reality is which you live, as well as eventually you die. In a past year my sister as well as brother-in-law have died. you have no tighten blood kin who have been alive, alternative than my daughter as well as granddaughter. One day I'll stick upon a departed, who roughly certainly haven't arrived during any alternative destination.
They're usually gone. Because...
This is it.
Those three difference contend a lot, though also roughly nothing. My knowledge which leads me to verbalise them is exceedingly different, richer, some-more profound, as well as life-altering than what I've emphasized with italics twice now.
I don't know what it is about my dusk dog walks. Maybe a star seems some-more transparent when you set out with a family pet upon a leash for a jaunt by a Oregon countryside since my mind is expelled from a common concerns.
Tonight! it happ ened again. On a own. Unbidden. An unspoken message which screamed silently inside of my consciousness.
This is it.
The obscurity which shrouded fir trees barely manifest in a near-darkness. Serena sniffing her way from a single erotically appealing roadside scent to another. The sound of my LL Bean shoes distinguished a pavement, dear yellow shoelaces glinting in a light of a flashlight beam.
At which impulse you knew, though you can't prove which what you know is true. So you guess you could call my meaningful a variety of faith. However, it is a faith backed up by a little pretty damn convincing evidence.
We live. And eventually you die.
What you knew upon a dog walk, as well as still know, is which this moment, whatever it consists of, never will come again.
Standing upon a road, leash in hand, you knew which so deeply you was roughly fearful to welcome a realization wholeheartedly, since it seemed which if you ever fully fathomed a inlet of what you can usually call IT, I'd run a risk of never entrance to a surface of my everyday hold up again.
Which could be a great thing. OK, it probably would be a great thing. you usually didn't feel like a dog travel was a right time to dive deeper into IT -- a knowledge which arguably underlies all alternative experiences.
Namely, a existential in-your-gut realization of life's finitude, ephemeralness, as well as on top of all, preciousness.
Never again will you knowledge what you am right now. This impulse will never come again. (A cliche, though cliches can be absolutely true.)
And not usually will this sold impulse never come again, there will come a time when no moments will. That time is a impulse prior to you die.
When you compare a devout as well as eremite dogmas you used to believe in with a realization which came to me upon a dog travel (which you have often these days, roughly regularly during unexpected moments), I'm struck by how most some-more genuine "This ! is it&qu ot; is.
That brings a smile.
I have a glance of even more: a bliss, peace, as well as contentment which you used to consider would usually come from pursuing a little arrange of other-worldly experience.
Knowing which this world, here as well as now, is it... what could be some-more gratifying than that? Dissatisfaction usually arises when you feel which what is function is opposite from what should be happening.
I could be wrong about genocide being The End rsther than than a transition to an additional chapter of life, of existence. It's unlikely, though possible.
However, which this impulse will never come again: probably 100% certain. Whatever you're you do right right away -- as well as my extraordinary powers tell me it is reading a blog post -- this is a last time you'll ever have this experience.
Enjoy. That. Strawberry.
