Of the Meantime

06/14/2006 7:37 AM – 7:57 AM

Why come back to sitting every day, when it seems to lead no further? Practice, I think. One does not get chased every day, but it would be good to be in shape for those odd moments when you are. Perhaps I am approaching that desert area where one cannot turn back, but neither can he see why he keeps taking that next step. But one step at a time, you move on, walking toward some distant, unseen hope. What does it matter what you do, if you are alive and have some sense of the deep river that flows unseen beneath the dry sands?

This too is a gift of God, says the Preacher. A God whose origin, nature and purpose we cannot fathom even in two times a thousand years. No matter what you do, you will end up in the same place. Take comfort in that. All is forgiven by the grave, for the grave cares nothing for you. Get up now. Get up and find a goal, though that goal is mistaken, the movement towards is what fills the air with breath. But perhaps that is a lie. But perhaps, who really cares? You are alive, as far as you can tell, for there is labor in the day and strong drink in the evening and sleep in the night. All things that arise descend.

Where was I when You laid the foundations of the earth? What was my face before my grandparents were born? I was not. The potential for my existence was present, obviously, but I was not. In some time, I will not be. My existence is very brief, and yet it is all that I can know. What should one do? How should one live ones life? Fight to hold it and when you discover that you can’t, let it go. Grab everything that you can without hurting anyone else and when the whirlwind knocks you down and takes it all away, get up, dust yourself off and start again. That is all that you can do. But our chief task is to enjoy those things that we are given. There is a time for everything and everything is made beautiful in its time. Letting go of those things that are not now, we press on to what may not be. Who can discover true silence? Who can ascend His holy hill? No one. But we can find in ourselves the echo of the one true moment. Sit a while and let it go. Let all things go and see if, after seven days, they return upon the waters. Where was I when God laid the foundations of the earth? Who am I to question the actions of God? Why, I am myself – who was born and will die and was often called, “Spike” in the meantime.