“I will suppose then, that everything I see is spurious. I will believe that my memory tells me lies, and that none of the things that it reports ever happened. I have no senses. Body, shape, extension, movement and place are chimeras. So what remains true? Perhaps just one fact, that nothing is certain.” Plato
The thing I really like about WP is that I can ramble on about things I love, things that bug me or anything at all, and only a few will read it. Words can pour forth like water, filling voids and finding levels of truth. I can reflect on this and that, reflect on my darkerst moments, post personal thoughts, notes and journal entries. I can even wonder what life is about and what is reality. The Velveteen Rabbit, reminds us that “real isn’t how you are made [but] a thing that happens to you.” Every moment something is happening and we continue to grow into who we re, despite our pasts.
Our lives, are made up of such small moments, some good, some bad, some mundane; moments strung together with the shimmering gossamer of the everyday.
The wind is howling, rippling between moments. Time is not only moments, it is a fluid vastness of eternity, which contains moments, moments without beginnings or endings. Moments morph one to another, as eons pass in moments spent. Between moments we search, but for what? For meaning? Whether or not we have a purpose is debatable, the illusion of life as something that can have meaning gives us some form of security. It pleases us to believe there is a higher purpose. But the truly meaningful comes with a heart too full for words in the stillness between breaths.