Beloved, everyone is Eternal and Infinite and has been around forever and ever and on such deep levels ever shall be. The general pitter and patter in the world takes up only a blink of an eye – if that – one way or another.
Much of the world seems to come across as a flash in the pan. It’s here in one so-called minute, and the next it’s not anywhere to be found, and you wonder where it went, and you wonder where you have been and what you thought were doing or not doing.
Once upon a time, you used to think that you were off to the races.
Now youth and beauty are, at best, ephemeral. Youth and beauty may just as well be a joke on you for all you know.
You do have the sense that the basic you is off somewhere. As it happens, what you commend to yourself doesn’t sustain all your heart’s desires. Sometimes you have a vague sense that you are here one moment and not the next.
You may feel that part of you has dropped off somewhere. You are not at all clear on who and what you amount to and why and where and when you actually exist if you do. It’s as if you have been suspended in time and in space. It’s as if you have been let go from holding your heart in place. Could it possibly be that you are an interloper, or a walk-in, or someone who walks out?
Perhaps you, and others as well, have done a disappearing act – here one moment, gone the next. Something is going on, and you’re not sure what. Something seems off base. Where is the place for you now to keep yourself, if, indeed, you are to keep yourself. You may feel like something about you has changed its mind. Perhaps you were on a tangent, and you don’t quite know how to get this tangent back. You forswore yourself without a moment’s leave and didn’t make it back to a semblance of a chance of figuring out what is what.
Yes, what is a thought of you worth when you feel obscure? Perhaps you are not even the fruit of the vine any longer.
Where did you hightail it to? If you really do exist, what hills are you heading for now? Perhaps you hitched a ride. Do you exist hidden somewhere?
Will you ever be back up and running, or will you always be unknown to yourself, no more than a shadow of yourself indiscernible in the background? Could it be that you are no more than a rumor?
Is there someone who still remembers you for old time’s sake? An ember of you left around anywhere?
Perhaps, when you have a good night’s sleep, you will figure out where you might be pretending to be and unfold some other matters as well that you once saw as real.
Can it be that you are no more than an afterthought? And why does all of this matter so much to you anyway? You no longer recollect what you used to make of life in the first place. Is life no more than an interlude? You wouldn’t mind amounting to something.
Where does all this vagueness come from, and why does vagueness exist so much more than certainty? Surely, you were expecting a greater portion of life to be apportioned to you. Where did it go, and when will it come back? How do you know you will ever make a comeback?
Are you the only one in the world who feels set aside in this same way?