Hardly Working

A myriad of events occurred today, not all of them what I would normally consider positive. If anything, it has been a glaring example of how one must let certain things go in order to receive something better. In the past few years, people dear to me have passed on, often without me having the chance for a proper goodbye. It is one of the topics that is on my mind so often; wondering just what happens when the life energy leaves the body. Some point to heaven, others to another life, and some to much darker places. There is what I believe, and there is what can be “proven.” In this instance, I know that energy can only change from one form to another. Do we become the seeds for plants, animals, or even other humans? Tracking even where we start from is such a monumental task, could we ever fully understand how unlikely all these processes are? “The miracle of life”; and yet so often we rush through our days, waiting until we rest our heads so that we can escape from our daily duties and the people who place demands on us. I never liked that kind of a life; I used to love leaving home to go to school, but then I’d be sick of school and couldn’t wait to get home. Always running. Because as long as we keep moving at reckless speeds, we don’t have to stop and notice that in the thousands of years that “civilization” has existed, we have yet to answer the most basic questions in a fully satisfactory way. It usually takes someone dying, us or others, for anyone to even begin contemplating what existence is. I have always wondered. I have been looking all my life.


But for now, I will keep running. Away from my mortality, away from the depression that seeks to consume me as a loved one hangs on that thin ribbon between life and death. I have only recently really started pouring myself into the promotion of my stories, because I (the fearless) was afraid. I feared letting out such a personal object out into the world. Another author described artistic works as being our babies. It is so true. Artistic works are half us, and half what we perceive of the world, joined together in the very best way we could manage. I feared others pointing and laughing as anyone on a playground would know. Yet each time a person passes away, I tell myself the same thing, “Some people will like it, some will hate it, and a few will even understand it. Don’t let it hold you back.” This time, before he passes on, I am forging ahead and keeping that promise to myself. It is a very short life we live, and only a few of us have experienced what comes on the other side. In this life of science telling us there are no guarantees we must treat our lives as the precious gifts they are. It only wastes time to be afraid of the bully. The bully on my back is invisible, made up of my imagination. I have decided it is a shame to imagine horrible things. After all, I can imagine anything I want. I choose the things that make me happy.

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