You are alive.
If you are reading this, you are alive.
And, as is the nature of existence, you had no say in the manner of your birth.
You were not consulted in the matter of who your parents would be, what nationality or country would be your home, what your genetic predisposition to intelligence or otherwise would be, or what your genetic predisposition to illness or otherwise would be.
And, perhaps you imagine that somewhere, sometime, someway before you came to be in this body you actually did have some say in the matter. Perhaps that’s so. But if it’s so, the rationale, the deliberation has not been granted to you to recall, to incorporate into your consciousness, so what real role can that potential predestinational imagining play with regard to your awareness of self, your concious decision-making process?
And so, you simply are, as you are.
And one day, it is more than likely, you will also have no say in the manner of your death.
For most of us, I think it will come sooner than our preparedness for it.
But hopefully just in time for our acceptance of it.
And you will die.
And so will I.
And so, in between, what do we do?
Between these two moments of birth and death is life. Is being alive.
We have needs to fulfill if we want to remain alive. We must eat, we must breathe so we must must occupy ourselves with trades that allow us to remain fed and healthy.
We have desires to fulfill as beings with an evolved cerebral cortex and so we pursue dreams of intelligence, of inspiration…we seek to create and experience art and ideas and material things, which add texture and color and context to this impermanent state of aliveness.
We are, I believe souls, in bodies, rather than bodies that have souls. We are made up of spiritual stuff as much as we are physiological stuff. And that spiritual stuff is made of love.
And so we love.
We live. We dream. We love.
And we try. We try to make sense of our state, our place in this world, how the world that surrounds affects us and how we inhabit it and how we make those three things happen for as long as we possibly can.
Where you were born, the state of the world, your luck perhaps, like mine, in being born in a free country, in a time period where women’s rights had evolved, has little to do with your own choice. I often wonder about those who are born, who live and who die elsewhere. Those who face struggles and pain and disasters I will never encounter.
Who I cannot ever fully understand and yet who I cannot fully live without.
Who I can never forget.
Is there purpose to it all? If you think so, there is.
Does that mean anything? If you think so, it does.