JUST A WORD
… collection of the absurd and ordinary, made whole, rendered void, resurrected by memory
Saturday Apr. 19, 2014
What of our life? Here? Now?
Yes – this time, right now, unlike any other time ever lived by anyone. History books don’t tell us how anything will turn out – either then, or now.
We look around for better answers to life’s tougher questions and we realize they are not life’s questions, the earth’s questions – they are our own questions.
Our answers seem so muted by more important things, we silence ourselves with self-doubts. We look for lessons from times past cannot help us . . .
Or can they?
Life, that word, this circumstance, our state of mind, this place we are in.
This Alpha-to-Omega of it, life, on its own – description of that distance from when it’s beginning to when it ends.
But does life speak?
Does life have voice, agenda, point of view?
I suppose it doesn’t, but I think we live as if it does.
We sip from cup of life as if it is a magical potion from which we derive energy, which gives us love and swagger, as an infant nurses . . .
Shifting gears is essential. For driving cars around sharp turns, climbing hills and crossing mountain ranges – we accelerate, we coast, we drift to the inside or outside of those curves, smoothly changing speed in sunshine or rain.
In life, career and relationships – I believe we (the collective average we) mostly drive a steady pace down centre-line, centre-of-road.
Life is just a word – but when we think it, write it, say it – we fill our lungs with it, pump our hearts with it.
It primes our pump, it makes our veins throb with it.
Mark Kolke
198,536
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: -2C / 28F, glorious sunshine, calm – last night’s snow/ice slurry is everywhere. We walked on snow covered lawns because sidewalks were certain catastrophe. Early sun is warming snow on tree branches. Melt and falling snow/ice lands on lawn blankets makes peculiar sculpture under every tree. Gusta sniffing and romping while I struggled to keep up.
