Waking up early and catching the sunrise: I can’t name a time of day that I enjoy more. There is a tranquility which resonates in my soul, but everything is in a state of flux, which contradicts the peacefulness. Nature and her creatures are just beginning to yawn, stretch their limbs, and carry out their daily rituals of eating and being eaten. The dim light illumines the horizon with minimal effort, slowly magnifying itself until our closest star blasts us with cosmic rays; revealing the spectacular spectrum of colors in which we are always immersed. The green leaves of the waving treetops shuffled by cool breezes tickle the bright blue sky as hues of orange, yellow, and red are absorbed by the sun as it ascends. Masterful strokes of artistic brilliance carried out on a cosmic scale.
I sometimes grow impatient with the sun. I want it to breach the treetops with haste, landing on me with its full force rather than a massaging of heat and light with gradual intensity before reaching a climax around noon. I must laugh when I catch myself begging the sun to hurry. How could I possibly forget? The sun never moves. At least, not for us. We eternally spin towards and away from our source of life, like a ball on the tip of the universe’s finger. ‘Round and around we go, when we’ll stop, nobody knows. This is inevitably followed by my persistent attempt to break free from the shackles of the industrial timeframes with which I have been indoctrinated, and clearly, am all too familiar with.
“A new day.” “A fresh start.” Call it what you will, but life, time, and indeed our place in the cosmos are a part of the same continuum. They never stop because you left work, or fell asleep, or because it is a particular day of the week. The sands of time fall at the same speed regardless of your perception, or your superficial ability to dissect your hours, days, weeks and life into planned, manageable chunks. This surgical dissection of our time may make us feel in control, or that we are the masters of our time and therefore our lives, but in reality, we are merely giving units of measure to what will already happen. “I am the captain of my fate. I am the master of my soul,” is an illusion. A beautifully standardized and magnificently deeply-brainwashed illusion.
What time is it? No, the year…well, according to calendars, carbon dating, or whichever method you prefer, it is a designated number; in the thousands or billions depending on your preference. The eternal rhythm of our planet, solar system, galaxy, and indeed our universe, echoes with an unparalleled consistency (although there may be an infinite number of parallel earths/universes depending on if you believe in string theory or not). Quantum mechanics aside, I am here; for as many spins as I have been gifted with. Nobody knows how long they will live, and neither do I.
Am I afraid of not seeing the visible spectrum of light, of never hearing music again, no longer feeling the pleasant caresses of my wife and child, and ceasing to experience the sensational life around me? I wouldn’t say I am afraid, as much as I am desperate to make the most of the time I do have. I will die. My life will end. And all the things I know and love will remain, and maybe not. Perhaps I am the creator of my own universe, and I am merely making it up as I go along…I am more afraid of that possibility than I am of dancing to the tune of the piper in the distance with no control of my life or actions.
I like to think that life is a perfect blend of free-will and destiny, the consistency of which we will never know. I don’t think we are meant to know, or at least, we are certainly not biologically capable of knowing. I like to think that my thoughts, words, actions, and experiences mold my life, even if only to a negligible degree. It makes me feel that I still have a finger on the reins. Without this, my life is already predetermined, as are the orbit of our planet, our sun, and the rest of the cosmic bodies in the known universe, and nothing that I think, say, or do can change this. I am just along for the ride. Hold on tight and try to have a clear, and positive perception of what’s zipping by…I tell myself.
These are the existential thoughts that dawn showers on me. It is a reminder that while everything is in flux, some things remain obscenely consistent. Although, their consistency lies in their continual and regimented “change.” The sun, the moon, the tides, and the weather. Through their constant motion, we are gifted with movement, colors, and patterns which enable us to experience sensations on an immeasurable scale. So much, to taste, smell, touch, see and hear…that we actually take them for granted, ignore them, or lose our ability to notice them whatsoever…if you can believe it. We become so accustomed to this inexplicably intricate symphony, of which there is no comparison, that we treat it as if it were an old song.
We turn it down, drown it out, and do our best to find a new song. The problem is that it is all the same song, and in our attempts to remix it, only end up with the original version. The treetops swaying in the wind, the warmth of the sun on our skin, the crack of thunder, the smell of the soil after a spring rain, the taste of honey, and even our increased pulse when we are excited, and indeed our entire range of emotional states that continually make us feel alive…are set to such an incredible rhythm, tone, and pitch, that we truly take them for granted. They are a given. Just as I breathe, so should the tides change, the earth spin, the sun illumine, the planets orbit, and the universe continue to exist. But, I guess that is the whole point. I wouldn’t exist, orbit, illumine, spin, or change if it were not for all of those other pieces to the puzzle.
After all of these ponderings, I am left with what I am always left with…”I think, therefore I am” and that’s all I really know. No matter how simplistic, or how complex I try to make my life…I am thinking, and typing, and breathing,..at least for the time being.