On The Post

What is it that we are all looking for?  What is it that keeps going on this ever winding and never ending road?  It's like looking across the desert or the ocean to any distant focal point on the horizon and not fully comprehending the vast distance betwixt you and that unobtainable point.  It is what I feel when I look into the night sky, with all those bursting orbs of lights billions of kilometers and light years away.  Destinations that are unfathomable and as foreign as that distant point on the horizon.  Yet, we dream.  We dream of reaching those fantastic locations far, far beyond the scope of our knowledge and depth of our understanding.  We yearn to see foreign landscapes on our planet and distant alien worlds: both about as equal in not being able to see in our lifetimes.  The stresses of the world, the finances, the balancing of what we can and cannot do, and the juggling of our time: for time is itself the serial killer of adventure, the murderer of dreams, and the scythe carrying figure for everything and anything. It's an ever ending war that we all eventually lose.  Some of us win some of these battles to be drafted back into the front-lines of the war; others fight and win numerous battles, often dancing on death's door, ringing the doorbell and running off into the darkened night, hiding and sneering at the other side from a boisterous advantage point.  Of course, some of us stay at the door with our selfie-stick in hand, hubris in our deep pockets and unable to run before the door is answered.  But, dreams keep us going; sleep may be a thief of our time, but without the sleep, we would lose our war to time faster, capitulating before our time and ceding all that we have won.  But do we really win?  Materials and wealth all can be accumulated and passed on and on and on, but does it provide any true richness of immortality?  What we do, ever present as a human, as a friend, as a confidant, as someone that is relied upon, is the greater path to immortality. Yes, the evils of the world have their place in remembrance, but they are frowned upon, spat upon, and any good they may have performed at any time is lost in the ether of evil.  That's not what I want, that's not what I yearn. Yes, I fear, as we all do, that tomorrow will never be seen from our tiny vantage point, but that our memories and stories will be told and retold with love in their hearts and a laugh in the smile.  That we left something more than a material element, that our memories invoke the happiest of thoughts and the happiest of memories.  That is what "it" might be.  might be.  It might be.  Could it answer everything in a simple number or equation? Of course not, but the philosophy of Logan and Preston taught us to be Excellent to Each other.  Remember that. Embrace that.  Be that.

Happy Birthday, Jack!


(no editing, all stream of consciousness and no stopping... a poor, but respectable homage to the man that influenced me more than I care to admit)