The ability to transcend ourselves is a widely undervalued ability. What is the ability to transcend ourselves, but to transcend space and time? The ability to take a look at ourselves through someone else’s eyes – what would we see?
It’s seldom that we set aside time for ourselves.
We set aside time to clean the dishes, to do the laundry, to read that book about that road…but how oft do we set aside time to explore ourselves? Would we even know where to start? Where to go? What to look for? Who to look for?
If our identity can be summed up by the sum of all of our linear actions then of what use is our mind? Trees go through life experiencing a number of events, should we associate those events with their identity?
Could we associate all of the things we have done in life with our identity?
If so, what of our future? How does that come into play in the grand scheme of things? For our mind is our most valuable asset, we give close friends, but a glimpse into that of which we understand, like a carefully guarded secret. Perhaps, not a secret, but a treasure. Buried deep below the dark waters of our consciousness, only diving deep after taking a breath of uncertainty and resurfacing with only vague images of which we can only form the most general of opinions.
I pondered this as I walked down a quiet, somewhat lush road until I came across two trees planted side by side, perhaps by chance – although, isn’t everything that we experience placed into the stream for which we call ‘chance’? – at which point I stopped my weary feet and stood awhile.
I wondered how well each tree knew each other, given that they had experienced so much of life together. Experienced each linear event together, grew old together.
It made me think of those who have come and gone.
Does the very act of carrying someone with you in spirit facilitate someone growing with you? After all, they only exist in your memories – only exist in your stories. By degrees, we make ourselves available to our imagination for those who have come into our lives and left prematurely.
We set awhile in a quiet room, we say to our imagination, “Okay, I trust you, take me with you.”, and we transport ourselves to a time and a place when we are back together with our most cherished, but lost friends.
Perhaps the road ahead is not littered in provocative scenes that lead us to such wonder, but perhaps we lend purpose into those scenes to make them as such. Perhaps, you think, this purpose is the ultimate gift to our friends who have come and gone – a gift that can only be given postmortem, and one that never be translated into words that others may understand.
But others may understand the language, and relate it back to their memories, their personal sunken treasures, and thus, they will give purpose to the footsteps of their future.