Strut and Fret. Die Anyway.

Imbolc                      Black Mountain Moon

Like many of us at our age I have labs out right now, ordered by Dr. Gidday. Something comes for us, that we cannot escape and its first tracks will often show up in rows of numbers from, say, a metabolic panel. I have no reason to think that those tracks will appear on these lab results, but labs are like those little blue folded documents most of us got in elementary school. Report cards. The grades often came as a surprise, or the written comments.

Like the snow that comes down again as I write, we come onto the stage, strut and fret a bit, then melt away, as if winter and we had never been. Some find this idea terrifying, but I find it soothing. We’re not such a big deal, no matter what we might think and that’s good news. Oh, I believe in making the sort of contribution you can, I do. I just don’t believe that it will matter much. Not in the long haul. Certainly not in the future when the world comes to an end, either with a bang or a whimper.

This is neither cynicism nor depression, it is, in my opinion, a source of great joy, a clarion of freedom. Relax. Life will go on. Then it won’t.

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