Our daily lives vary widely, but our whole lives seem to include mostly the same things that fill us, fill our days, fill our years, fill our lives … does everyone feel the same things? Who, why, when, why not?
Every question, at every turn, deserves an answer does it not?
I cannot separate myself from this question – each time I have a thought or feeling, of wondering if I’m having the same feelings everyone has, or the feelings nobody else has?
If we are contented with life in all its aspects – one has to wonder if that is ever possible unless we are dead? We aren’t pleased by pleasures or treasures, and our finest moments and memories are of magical moments – few of them solitary, most of them involving laughter and smiles, solidarity with someone we know, someone we love, someone we care about. Or, sometimes, a passing magical moment with a complete stranger. And I wonder why? Why is that? How can it be?
Physical and emotional functions, lifestyles and families – all we fit in between our birth and our death, why are we not all in complete harmony?
Is it because we are the same, or because we wish we weren’t?
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -3C/27F, steady breeze, clear skies – the stars seem closer today and my thoughts of being out at Majorville run through my mind; Gusta is just happy to be out where nearly everything is sniffable now, snow and ice have retreated almost completely in our ’hood.
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