Sunday, January 17, 2010

Labor to make all one glow of beauty...

There is no reason. Why certain girls had to be the ones to die in a fire. Why the earth has to suddenly release energy to create seismic waves. Why the accident had to happen at that time in that place. We do love logic. And reason. And we strive to create patterns and formulas that explain why and how. But sometimes the why and how have no place. There is no why or how.

I have no answer, and I don't know if I ever will. But I understand. I can put myself in these people's shoes. I understand the feeling of loss. I know the feeling of being lost. Where you're in this strange place, and the sounds are all muffled, but you can clearly hear the frozen earth crunch beneath your numb foot. And when you kneel for rest, the dirt is hard and doesn't relent for you. I know what it's like to see your breath in the cold air and still feel unsure if it's you that's breathing. I know what it's like to hear people call your name and you squint at them because you know you're supposed to recognize them, but you don't. Nothing is familiar anymore. The life we planned is gone. The future we hoped for no longer exists. Just like that.

Just like that we find ourselves waking up. And we don't recognize this reality, though we know it's ours. Just like that we find ourselves asking every morning if it was only a dream, and just like that we find ourselves being reminded every morning that it was not. Truth: one of the hardest part of saying goodbye is having to say it every day. Every day is a different reality than what was originally planned.

But guess what that means? It's new.

Guess what else that means? Your only choice is to recreate. You imagined one thing, and it's left you. You get to imagine again. Every day is a blank canvas. You get to choose a new course, you get to choose a better route, you get to choose new words, new gestures, new loves, new interests, new desires. That is your only option. You have no choice but to imagine. As long as there is breath in your lungs, you are meant to go on. You are meant to do what you're meant to do. What is that? I don't know. Try, some new things! But "never cease chiseling your statue."

1 comment:

  1. Hey Beka, I tagged you in a quiz! You can read about it on my page.