Not Enough
Sunday arrives… Perhaps a ritual ought to be instituted for greeting a sunrise, a simple and brief gesture, maybe a poem to recognize waking as a beginning, another creation of ourselves, of the world. Sunlight fuels everything. Change is what we mean by the dance of energy, the flowing thermodynamics. Would I enjoy earning a degree in engineering school to better understand the science, the calculus language of this effect? I would!
But that is an idle speculation, only to be held in the imagination. I have lived as I have lived. There’s no reason for me to believe there’s to be more rides on this wheel. I received one ticket, and for me that was a stroke of astonishing good fortune. Sometimes I muse about the line of genetic predecessors arriving here before me, that their experience one way or another was passed on to each of my parents, and I arrived as an infant here in 1949. Conceivably another individual child might have been born. I am saying that that the odds were long, and I am the result of a throw of the dice, – simply to arrive here, to awaken to childhood, surviving biologically and emotionally to adulthood, etc., etc., defies description.
I am. At any point the hand-off could have been interrupted.
Then nothing…
But (another sweeping turn just ahead on the racetrack) how can I contribute, what can I make of another day of my life? Now that demands a delicate touch!
I’ll assist my son with the paver-stone patio he is constructing.
Here is a tune to hold onto. Barry White delivers with his inimitable voice, Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe.
