One thought has bent blood in me recently: what will it feel like to be loved by an infinite God in eternity?
What level of ecstasy awaits those faithful ones, who survive the pillages and plights of this earth, to be granted their eternal home in a dimension and time not yet realized?
When I was young, I learned there are three primary colors, but something tells me there are more.
Glory is such an overworked word.
It hardly fits the grandiose pictures and rhymes we attach it to.
Sometimes I think of dying.
I get immensely excited.
Not in a sadistic or nihilistic way; in a way that beckons light within me to escape the confines and caverns I’ve hidden it in for far too long.
Something eternal, more than ethereal, cries loud like a wolf at the moon, desire escaping, a deep hunger pulsating within like the ocean hungry for the shore.
And in my scampering thoughts, I think I see light, scattering in broken, beautiful pieces across a silver shore, a garden swathed in morning heaven, a forest warmly inviting me into its friendly depths, and a voice, louder than water times infinity.
It’s so easy to get lost in the day to day distractions of this tired life to forget that ache within your heart still hasn’t been solved. The music soothes it, the substances numb it, the love leaves it behind, but it’s still there, waiting in the dark, when shadows aren’t enough to put you to sleep.
It’s there, in the crackling of the fire, spitballing magic heat into the cool crisp air.
It’s there, in the hospital room, where fear is deafening.
It’s always there.
Do we forget who we are?
Do we forget the unexplainable, overwhelming, hard and beautiful thing that is the gift of life?
Where science is left grappling for answers, philosophy and the human heart take us onward.
Death is life inverted.
If all of life we have headed towards death, becoming more dead, and preparing for death, then what will all of death be?
A final grasp at life?
A journey into inexplicable color?
And the crazy thing is that no one actually knows what’s next.
Are we this stupid of a species to ignore the heavy locomotive headed towards us?
“No, I don’t have time for that!” we cry out as we ignore the fact that we’re tied down to the tracks. Its weight could come upon us at any moment and yet still we punch the clock, refuse to forgive, and waste our time on meaningless things.
I’ll get untied when I need to, some say.
Other deny the locomotive.
Still others deny being tied.
And yet most simply don’t think about it.
Until it’s too late.
“56 years he was on that track”, one man mumbles to another, the parched body with clasped hands a few feet away.
“A damn shame,” whispers another, shaking his head, and walking on towards lunch.
On towards lunch!
Would you like the special?
No, thank-you sir, I’ll have a close look at death at 11:00 and a large plate with cold cuts and chips at 12:00.
I wouldn’t want to miss the game.
Irresponsible isn’t the right word.
It’s more than irresponsible.
It’s downright mad, foolish, insane.
To throw an eye over your shoulder at death and keep walking like it’s always 1:00pm on a Sunday in June is a disease.
Yet it’s affected all of us.
We wake up, go to work, scroll through social media, get frustrated in traffic, hear the news, get angry, take it out on our spouse, watch people on screen with happy lives, get depressed, and go to sleep.
Death is a shadow that grows larger every day you’re alive, and yet most of us ignore it.
Like a cancerous tumor growing on a man’s upper lip that he refuses to get checked out, humanity refuses to fully grapple with and comprehend death, and decide what to do about it.
The precipice will come.
The edge will force us over, eventually.
There is no doubt.
Are you certain you know what’s on the other side?
Every human has done it before, and yet there are none who can come back and tell us how to do it.
If there is nothing after death, we needn’t worry.
But what if there is?
What if our consciousness survives the decay of our body?
We must comprehend the severity and the weight of it all.
We are but dust, flickering shadows in the evening light, just here before the sun fully sets.
When it sets, where will we find ourselves?
Dear reader, if you have not considered this, I beg you to do so.
It is of the utmost importance.
the unworthy wanderer 