Two years ago, it really hit me that a lot of dreams and maybe even delusions I had, along with some very influential artists, had died. I was going through old writing and old journals and old computer files, wondering who the person was that wrote them.
I don’t recognize the person who wanted half of those things. I can’t remember what I was going through when I believed they were important. I’m grateful I never spent the time chasing those things. Thank goodness for procrastination until I lose interest or find out it’s too hard.
“Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore”– Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers
I have this sense of impending doom, like I have done something wrong. I’m so angry and fed up by the direction of my country, the direction of the planet, the direction of the leadership of the countries that make up the planet, etc. etc. It seems like no one cares as long as “I got mine.”
I am a moral relativist. The whole world is shades of grey. There are few absolute truths. No one has got all the answers. So my job is to get me through this life causing as little hurt and harm to the world around me until I’m dead. And then I will be dead, just dead. Within 60 or so years every one who ever met me will also be dead and my life will mean even less.
For me, it’s the difference between being nice and being kind. It feels like a kick in the face that kindness is a radical stance. All I can do is fight the growing unrest with compassion and truth.
“And for the rest of your days and nights, I hope you can remember you never have to do anything sensational in order to be loved.”– Mister Fred Rogers – Middlebury College commencement 2001