don’t think twice, it’s alright

what if tomorrow I don’t wake up?

this isn’t a morbid or even particularly dark reflection,

but simply recognition that life

is fleeting.

we

are fragile.

sometimes I focus a bit too much on fragility,

on inevitability and the consequent inconsequential-ism.

and this should lead me to release from concern,

but I remain concerned.

and that should lead me to action,

but I’m tired.

so, what if I don’t wake up?

I say, “sleep is good.

and you’ll be fine.”

but you contest,

“fine is the worst,

and sleep isn’t sleep

without dreams.”

fine might be the worst,
but contentment might be
for what we really hope.

and who said I wouldn’t dream?

I dream now,

and metaphor is only animated by loss of logic.

and, to us now, what is death but that:

the animation of our greatest metaphors?

and what is a metaphor but extrapolation

of things seen unto things unseen,

or rather of things understood

unto things not understood,

or rather,

in the case of the problems of consciousness,

of this tangible world

unto that sublime slumber that

draws each of us in:

as our heads nod and our eyes get heavy,

as perception disconnects and emotionalism overcomes (and how),

as the hour grows late and the birds awake

surely we’ll fear not that infinite slumber,

but instead yearn for a cosmic pillow.

and if I don’t wake up,

that’s ok—
I've a decent command of metaphor.

when life became Meta

It strikes me as humorous that humans expend such energy researching the human.

I think back to the dawn of consciousness. I imagine recognizing that I was recognizing.

The exploration of reality from that point has taken place in baby steps. Those baby steps have us now studying the mind in a sort of Meta Meta: we are now awkwardly aware of our existence.

With consciousness came an existential fear: we needed meaning and something after to appease our awareness of death (enter religion). Now, as consciousness itself becomes old news, we settle into a soft nihilism: a shrinking world begot relativity that bred atheism and a lack of significance.

What’s next?

Probably a swing back in the cycle.

We’ll move from an overly objective approach to existence to a romantic understanding of reality, from expansion to contentment, from science to religion, from constructing meaning to… well, constructing meaning.

and I tell myself again, “it is still a beautiful world”

It’s easy to miss where we’ve been.

I think our best defense mechanism is how we romanticize history: I have no doubt that my past was not as marvelous as I remember it to be,

yet I allow the perfection of those days

to inform the perception of these days.

I entertain a stoic sentimentality.

I understand far too well how very distant the past is, but my heart has been hardened to the hints of sadness in nostalgia.

(And I say that with a pit in my stomach.

And I say that knowing my heart still breaks and my heart still bleeds.)

Sometimes, as my mind withdraws from the moment, I find myself feeling nostalgic about what’s to come. Constant regret makes the heart sick.

I’m learning what it means to live in the moment.

to appreciate what I have, when I have it

to be content with the God of my life

to keep peace with my soul

to be cheerful

to understand that though the world is full of sham, drudgery and broken dreams,

it is still beautiful.

(thanks, Max Ehrmann, for giving me perspective)