Sitting on the back of a rusty pick-up truck bound for the
highway of life, a lone traveler stares into distant skies with tired eyes.
Eyes weary of a long hard life of toil and with nothing to show for it but
calloused hands. Unheeding of the howling wind blowing by his face or the
promise of yet another storm, he sat there, hunched to his thoughts and unaware
of his misery. He fumbles around to regain his composure after a sudden jolt
brought about by an imperfection on the road, he came upon a crumpled piece of
paper amongst the many litters of trash people just dump on the back of any old
truck. To save himself from further gloom he began to read.
“If there ever was
a reason to make a life justifiable it would be for all the right reasons and
not just for a sole reason, even if such an idea would seem noble, if not too
overly. If there was ever a time to search for a meaning to anything such a
time would be, for whatever reason earnest would deem necessary, be wanting and in need of
haste. Too many wonders to seek explanations for and too many questions needing
any sort of explanation just to make their time worthwhile in posing.
And yet here we
are, wanting for a liberation from a prison we ourselves do not yet know or are
afraid to face. Lost in a daze we scramble to define our existence, not with
words or actions or even ideals, but with hopes and aspirations; dreams we are
waiting to unfold before our eyes, yet we are paralyzed by the mere notion of
their fruition or the taxing commitment they inherently require.
And then there is
our notion of time, or lack of it. Everything revolves around many aspects
which define how we live our lives but the painful truth is nothing really
revolves. Everything evolves. Time passes and we lose it. Everything changes
over time, nothing is eternal. Everything is ethereal. In this wisp of a moment
we come to the sad realization that as we die slowly each passing day, we have
forgotten how it must have felt to live. To live for a moment’s respite, to
live for someone you love, to live for an ideal, to draw strength from the
vibrance of this thing called life and drench yourself with its longing; its
unquenchable thirst; its energy.
In silence we
hope, and if we remember, we pray. We hold on. We hold on to anything with
semblance to substance, to security, to permanence. Even if we had to lie to
ourselves to believe, at least long enough
for some sense of resounding half-truths , no matter how falsely or
unstately that notion may seem, just so we can put meaning to our actions and
gratification to unheeded effort. And still, we come to the point in
question…the beginning of something we do not yet know or want to know and the
end to something we would rather not ponder upon. The truth is we simply have
to learn to let go. To let ourselves dream and bask in the silence of
unconditional existence; to not take more than we need and go back to simple
living.
When we filter
out the noise hard enough and long enough we can finally listen to the one
person we haven’t heard from in a long, long time. Ourself. ”
“Hey, buddy! Your
stop’s just ahead. Let’s get a move on, shall we. Looks like another long night
of rain.”, cried the driver. With that our lone traveler hops out of the truck
that served as his refuge, at least long enough for him to finally understand.
Staring at the blackening sky one last time, and after a long sigh, he forges
ahead and the night finally swallows him.
He smiles knowing
that somewhere in this world, under a starry
moonlit sky, a child dreams and Hope is renewed. And with Hope comes
Chance; a chance to start all over again, to finally be free, to be alive.
Unbeknownst to our
lone traveler a pick-up driver parks by the roadside somewhere, writes another
entry to his journal, tears it off for want of something better to write about,
to feel about, to feel alive about, and throws a yet another piece of crumpled
paper at the back of the pick-up bed, and heads out. A chance indeed.
