240920 - The value of values

A reminder to return. To come back, to withdraw, and to gives space. Oh, how I wish it wasn’t so. How I wish it wasn’t like this, how I wish life was a gentle caress and not a.. whatever you would call this. How I wish denial was a route to success. Yet people die, and suffering is prevalent. We sugarcoat it, or we scandalize. People die and it’s just a part of life. Children suffer the most horrid of faiths and the world is evil. Life is like this. The longing for a gentle embrace is received by a brutalizing smile; and yet the worst of faiths is not this. The emptiness of passion lost deceive us, and memory is not to be trusted. All the knowledge in the world right at our fingertips; and all it shows us is this. We know so much, and understand so little. As the intellect works overtime, what space is there for simplicity to prevail? What value can we attribute to a day lost in wonder, an afternoon in the sunshine or a lazy morning by the fire? The value of values; this is what I question. Tomorrow you’ll be dead and gone, worms will have pierced your sockets and maggots will have eaten the last bits of that which you hold dear. On that day, no longer can you aspire to climb the last set of stairs dwindling up into the clouds. No longer will the future hold the promise of fulfilling that emptiness gnawing in your soul. As sure as you can be that this day will come, so sure shall you be that with the first fistful of earth thrown on your decomposing body all your visions of a brightness yet-to-come are buried too. Word-less promises forgotten, leaving space for the next generation of forward-lookers to arise. Your shouts will echo in that cold and empty casket, doomed to be a reminder of before it was too late to listen. We return, and might allow ourselves an easy smile. The reading of words - a reminder that it’s not too late to listen. To let ourselves be, simply because we are. What does it mean, to not let tomorrow hold the promise of fulfilling today? To not make choices based on where it will leave us, but on which path we prefer? To honor the process, to know that it is all that ever shall be, and to find solace in its fact?