“What should I possibly have to tell you, oh venerable one? Perhaps that you’re searching far too much? That in all that searching, you don’t find the time for finding?”

herman hesse. siddhartha

we are not getting any younger. from here on out our money will be worth less, our bodies will tire easier, pain will linger longer. time is burning away and this is all fine. its a relief of sorts to pass the moments of insecurity, of fragility and not knowing what we were here in the first place. hitting the half-way point is both a relief and a point of turmoil. to know that part of you is further down a hole where you eventually disappear is both a blessing and curse.

like reading a good book, or wanting give up a boring one, life is how it plays out and how its written. but also its about the reader. the time you start it. your story is for you to judge, and for others to marvel at or put down. wars rage, markets roil, a gun goes off and a child laughs. a tree falling in the woods makes room for others to grow. the two sides of the coin with each side wanting the other to show.

so I go back to what I do. spin a life while turning water into wine, thread into gold. make the objects count, the situations visceral. pray to our gods, commit to our morals and do our best to stay out of harms way. we chalk it up to luck after we waited a lifetime in the way of fate. we call it love, we fool ourselves and others by imagining a place and time that is not quite now but right there in the horizon.