Here I am, blankly staring into space, wondering if I have reached the end of my search. Here I am, gravely probing the thoughts of what people will say of me when my circle ends, and probably wondering if my existence would be worth the air I expended. Here I am, thinking of life after death.
People say everyone is looking for something, anything, but I have never heard anyone with a cry of euphoria in finding what they truly seek. People say our lives are drawn to something we can’t truly grasp, but if this hold any form truth, then what the hell is wrong with us?
Maybe it’s because we ever never truly find what we seek, or we never truly understand why we seek what we think we need. Maybe it’s because all our searching will end with a final breathe of relief, or maybe we get to find what we seek, but not enough time to explore what we have gotten.
Maybe we are fools to live this way.
Some may say, “I have what I have sought for, I have everything I need”, but if we were to readily subject our inner thoughts to the microscope of reality, we are very sure to agree, indeed, our search never ends; because for it to end, is for us to throw our gauntlet to the floor.
Life itself is an unending search, and If so, what then will be said of us who spend all of our lives chasing what we may not fully have? If the search never ceases until the clock tickles away, how then will people describe what the path we have trodden.
Now here I am thinking, what if I close my eyes in death today, what if the curtain of my stage play is drawn, and I am forced to read from the other side, the lips of those I leave behind? What will I hear them say?
If Jesus tarries, and the Sun goes down on my life, here is how I want my story told; here lay a man like you and I,
Who wrote so little but inspired so many.
Whose singular assignment was to change the thinking of one person.
Who spoke transformation into lives.
Who was selfless, creating wealth for others.
Who was a friend of God.
Who was motivated by fear and rejection.
Who created by imagination
Who was always ready to fail.
Who still live in the lives of people.
Who gave all he had and died empty.
If my obituary is thus framed as this, then my bones, wherever it may lie, would quake in elation, for I will deem my search over.
Death is not the enemy, and is neither our journey into beyond the end of life in this brown earth, for if i die today, what will you say tomorrow?