It's been such a year. (It's been such a life.) There is no wrapping one's head around, there is no making sense of the madness or becoming aware of the Bigness of it all.
These are our lives. You may believe you will have another, an infinity, an energy, a soul, and that this life only prepares you for the wonders of what is to come. I, however, believe in no such hopeful future. I believe in cells, and mulch, in carbon dioxide and earth. I believe that we have this one life, this one moment of existence, to do with as we please. Outside my Greenwich Village window, a great big moon hides in shadows from the sun; the galaxy lies impossibly vast beyond. Sixty square feet of apartment has nothing on infinity. Five liters of oxygen in my lungs are dismissible in the scheme of things.
But somewhere therein lies the magic. That this life is mine and no one else's. That this spark flashes now and never again. That life is a moment, and you have to make that moment worth something.
We must never forget to be tickled pink, at the mere prospect of being alive.
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