The unavoidable inclination to, as a human, disclose being as a purely human trait is a self-induced pain that both plagues and livens us. In moments of pure joy do you think, why am I feeling this, how am I feeling this, why should I deserve this? No, because that eradicates the joy itself. Yet this wonder is what also encourages us to find that joy again.
Always searching seems to bring only more questions.
Questions, being creates so many questions.
Inevitably creating an itch, a need to define.
Definitions are the end of the experience, of actively being present and the joy that lives within that.
A short life meets a quick death.
Quick in the certainty of it, but endless in the way we choose to hold on to the fleeting joy of these dead moments. Death outlives birth in the way we as humans fixate on memory rather than true experience. An inclination for rigidity and fortified understanding robs us of our ability to be present. To value presence would mean accepting the fear, the certainty of an end. To then view the end as a door to another door and another kaleidoscope of doors, rather than the end being a sense of nothingness. Better said than done. A seemingly impossible shift of thought when accepting your small knowing consists more of unknowing’s. And coming to peace with that only brings the unbelongings, and that one is even tougher because not belonging to what’s why’s and how’s makes us feel irrational.
But what is the harm of embracing the short life of the present without fear of unknowing? Presently, does that scare you? Experiencing quickly and endlessly, is that too much?