The End of Times

I am not trying to be in anyway suggestive that the world is about to collapse and we should all retreat into our own underground bunkers (if you should be crazy lucky enough to have one). No, for a lot of people I have spoken to, the year has been one of trying, more so than previous years. Whether my sample of people is reflective of the majority of the human population is not really my concern. We have our little bubbles, little playgrounds and no one has appointed me ruler of the world…yet.

What struck me most is the weight of burden I  seem to have on my shoulders. And this weight has nothing to do with responsibility or any other type of obligation. What seems heavy, is the understanding that my purpose have somewhat been skewed to paths I didn’t quite imagine. Maybe it is for the better, I really do not have sufficient wisdom to tell you whether it is or it is not. That is the part of the problem. When before I seem to be so sure of everything, age has a way of confusing your dreams and your reality. There is an inherent fear as well that dwells and rears its ugly head when I am at the weakest point. It hides from me and I hide from it. We play this game until one day we are forced to face each other and then it’s anybody’s guess as to who walks away.

I have felt disappointment of late. With those dearest, the situation, the world, the birds and the trees which can only mean that the real person I am disappointed at is…me. But whether I am irreparable, I have no idea.

We change our North so many times, it is hard not to look at the stars with suspicion. Where I am led, I cannot be sure that there are any victors. My hope is that we do not become monotonous in our lives. That routine becomes the only thing we look forward to. That is unbearable to contemplate and we may as well hope the Mayans were correct. We were not built to be as unfeeling as robots, so in this human flesh, I sincerely hope that we are worthy of the beating pulse which courses through our veins.