My story
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What is the point?

I pause in the road watching the mist roll across the pavement. The sun is warming the water left behind by a freak March snow flurry. I consider taking a picture of the mist. But it is so fleeting and good results unlikely with my limited camera skills. Besides, just standing there and watching the beauty unfurl and curl and sweep away is completely satisfying.

This is what I am fed by. Moments of art created by the hands of nature. Nothing to do but enjoy it.

After a bit I notice I am contemplating my own nature. Clearly I could bask in the beauty for a very long time. But I don’t, I move on, am moved on by the question/ demand almost : “What is the point here? What is is for? How does this serve, contribute, inspire another?” The urging pushes me into action. Or perhaps I should say “terrorizes me”.

I am a creature of our productive results oriented culture. Everything is supposed to be for something. Even a fleeting vision or pause gets mined for value. Can I take a photo? Can I write about it? Would it be interesting to someone else? What is the point?

If it can’t be used, bought or sold it must be left behind. I know that is not a reflection of how I really believe. In fact the “real” me would have all my life be in matters that are totally pointless. Transcendental bliss, rain storms, pictures of flowers, candle flame, walks in the woods, talking with trees, … these are the things that brighten my life and make it worth living.

But today I must admit that the voice asking “What’s the point?” is my own. That a part of me too is focused on producing something worthwhile. The manifesting urge. The urge to make a difference, to serve, to provide value.

So I pick up some threads of fleeting thoughts as they roll across my mind like mist and put them down here for you to read. In that I have created something. Time will tell if it is worthwhile.

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