There is nothing quiet about nature and there is seldom silence in the struggle for life. Though we may find moments of tranquility and calm when we dislodge ourselves from modern disturbances and human interference, the silence of serenity is broken by the brutal finality of the end.
These words are not meant to be morbid or morose, as mother nature and father time do not discriminate when choosing. They are used as a reminder to find encouragement and take advantage of the time we have at present.
Every story has multiple points of view, and each point of view carries a different story to tell. On a day I am reminded of our mortality, this is how I choose to tell mine:
The individual stages of our lives are governed by critical emotions dominating our viewpoint and growth. As bewilderment transcends understanding, we phase out of one complexity to be blinded by the next. Our education of the surrounding world in which we operate revolves on never ending waves of lows and highs.
Birth splashes us upon the dirt as dribbling infants with an emptiness of mind we continuously seek but never seem able to regain. With wide-eyed wonderment filling our days, we are easily astonished as we clod and prod to understand the tactile world just in reach of our minute grasp.
Clawing through adolescence, hope is our testament to living. We hope for understanding, we hope for acceptance, we hope for desire, and we hope for escape. We hope to begin our life recognized as developed individuals forging our paths beyond known borders.
As young adults, life is fervently pushed under the pragmatic bus of life only to be run over by a caravan of responsibilities. Duties and expectations amassed upon the shoulders of newly exposed individuals lacking conceptualization and the fundamental skills so utterly needed in the looming world. There is but one choice, determination or fear. You must choose now. Quit or proceed. Step forward or step aside please. You have to keep on trucking or it will leave you by the wayside ragged and soiled.
Poof! In a flash it’s gone and middle age is looking you smack in the face of regret. Could-of, should-of, would-of rolls off the wagging tongues of the defeated as the eternal epithet of a life half gone. Regret leaves no room for happiness to dwell as it crowds the lodgings of our minds, filling crevices previously known only to its contents under pressure. With no room left for elbows, it nudges us out of our present existence in hopes of reliving a past setting faster than a winters sun.
Perseverance, and bit of help from Mr. Dumb Luck, finds ourselves stumbling upon the proverbial age of wisdom; golden years to shine down upon us with rays of enlightenment and reflection. Truth is, reality shortens our insightful reigns as sages atop mountains of genealogy as the tolls of age begin sapping our minds of the vital information we have fought so hard to gather. As our fall from grace strips us of our dignity and independence, we must come to terms with a life soon to pass. As we search eternity with a yearning for the meanings of existence, we exit as blissfully unaware as the day we began.
These are the voyages of a starship called America in the valley of the gun.
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