I gaze upon the sky and heavy questions burden my soul. Why am I here and what is the purpose of this life? There are answers to lesser questions that I am sure of, but none of those aid in shrinking the void of the unknown.
I turn a rock in my hand and know its weight and color and texture. I can know how it is formed and have confidence when I say the rock will remain long after I have gone. It will exist on a grassy hill or be cast to the bottom of the ocean, yet it will still be whole even as my bones are turned to dust. Somehow I am at peace with the reality of insignificance and yet still desire to wield my sword as if I had the power to live on forever. But can it be so?
It seems a bit of a circle I’m thinking of. Something began the second thing and the second began the first. Virginia has conjured images enough to give supple life to the philosophy of being and relating and then sprouts the question of how long can a thing live on after it is gone? And through this tangled vine of words one wound round the next to twist the questions a different way, ever so slightly different, yet just enough to grow a bit longer – stretch a bit farther.
Then she who is gone now, lives on to ask again and again and again. This wonderful, terrible world she has created, a perennial resisting the bitter wind of death and with each new fresh set of eyes on that dewy spring lawn like sunshine causing, by the unyielding properties of nature, to force that vine to push through the frosty soil and rise again. And then ask again – how long can a thing last? Quite long it seems.
I find such truth in words at times. Inspired by the ideas and the style. Forced to take what comprehension I have and turn it into a reflecting pool. I begin to contemplate those questions in particular contexts not necessarily from her words but from my own life. What might one be thinking at any particular given moment. How it changes so from one day to the next. In a minute, sheer joy from some random ribbon tied perfectly in a bow and hours pass and that trivial knot is met with a measurable amount of indifference.
Time is ticking away and emotions are fleeting. A great and deep sorrow is anchored in this. We might base our entire existence on the pursuit of something that, once obtained, slips right back into the depths of a vast and ever-changing river not meant to be navigated or conquered.
Life is but a tiny grain of sand and each relationship we form is another adjacent particle that is at risk from sudden separation. Neither will sustain together or alone, and both, either together or alone eventually slide through the glass to the other side. We have no control over the laws of science and nature and we can know this, yet still we are pressed to question why. It is almost as if we exist just to ask the question, to feel the weight of it and perpetuate. And also, perhaps, live on past our demise. Perhaps…