Conscious for 76 Years, Existent for Eternity

We all had one father and one mother. Genetically, we are them and they are us. They are our past lives because we came from them. In some sense, we are a rebirth of them, though we are not conscious of any of their life experiences.

And when our lives are over, our bodies return to the interconnected web of the universe. Our bodies change form — perhaps to the soil, then to the worm, then to the bird, and then to a person again — though we are not conscious of any of this.

That's the thing about existence. Our entire universe is what we experience. Our awareness of this experience lasts only 76 years on average, but we will exist for eternity, just unaware.

The beauty of life is the time that we get to be conscious of it. The horror of life is knowing that it won't last. How we deal with the anxiety as the finish line creeps up on us will define us.

Knowing that this end is real, and not sugar-coating it with promises of a conscious afterlife for which we have no evidence, is how you prepare for death — which is also how you prepare to live. 

Savoring the Present: Finding Meaning on the Edge of Non-Being

When I walk through a neighborhood I'm struck by the polarity of being and non-being.  All these homes were built to house people; presumably they were meant for families.  

I pass a new house.  It seems to be full of possibilities.  The kind of place you'd imagine children and young couples.  

A little further you come across an older home with a construction crew onsite.  The home is being remodeled.  Many families have come and gone in this house.  It is being updated, so that it can begin again.

Towards the end of the street I come to an old dilapidated house.  The weeds have grown up all around the front yard—obscuring the porch, windows, and doors.  The roof has caved in and a tree has fallen on the back patio.  The paint is chipped and faded.  The wood along the trim is rotten.  There are no families here, only an empty shell where memories were once made.

Families, much like the homes that house them, come and go.  The people start out new, grow old, and end up empty shells—their identities lost to eternity.  

They leave artifacts behind.  With communities remembering their legacies for a time.  Influence may out live them, but in the end this is all temporary.  Even legacies fade into oblivion.  

And much like the old house I stand in front of, I will eventually fade into obscurity.  I will be absorbed by the earth that I once walked upon.  I will fade into non-being.

How do I come to grips with being in a state that is inching towards non-being?

All I can do is savor each inch as it passes in front of me.  This is the marrow of existence.  The art of becoming.  

I am always changing into something else.  This is why I must acknowledge the present moment as the only true reality.  If I don't I will miss the seasons as they change on this long walk through life.

I must acknowledge the interconnected nature of everything.  This is the true freedom.