Saturday, December 22, 2012

The End of the Story

The world, according to the Mayan calendar, should have ended yesterday. I'm guessing it didn't because my world is still here and I appear to still be in it. Yet, I'm thinking, something ended yesterday. It was the day itself, December 21, 2012. By that token, "the end" takes place every midnight.

St. Paul wrote, "I die daily." Did he mean that our lives begin and end one day at a time?  Then what about the ending called death, the one others will see in a date
inscribed on our gravestones? The older I get the more I'm confronted by the thought of this end. Not that I'm afraid of it. I'd just hope it will be easy and not prolonged, the way any pregnant woman hopes giving birth will be. Funny, isn't it, that birth makes so little impression on us that we forget it as if it never happened? My friend and teacher, Dr. Merriman, used to say, "You'll never know when you die. Your birth and death are the experiences of others about you. They will not be a part of your experience." I wonder.

This morning I've been playing lazy. That's just one of the perks of living alone. If no one shows up unexpectedly, no one needs to know you didn't get out of your pajamas, robe and slippers until nearly noon. No one needs to know you spent the morning watching TV. The History Channel had a long drawn-out account of what would happen if humans would die out and leave the earth. How long would it take for buildings, bridges, roads, etc. to decay and crumble? If animals remained how would they cope? I was waiting for the end of the story, where Earth would return to its native state. I missed that part. Must have dozed off, because I didn't see the end.

Every story should have an end. We humans love stories, but they need to end. When they do, they give us something to think about before going to sleep. As for our own endings, I'm wondering why they come upon us so stealthily. Slow or fast, they don't tell us why. Why should those little school children in Connecticut have met their end so early in life at the hands of a maniac with an automatic weapon? I'd hope that they will not remember that event when they wake up to a new world. No one likes the idea of dying so it seems fitting that we might not remember it, just as we don't remember being born.

We're coming up to the end of a year. I like this time. It sets me to thinking how I can make my story better. I used to love writing resolutions but now, if I do that, I quickly erase them or toss them aside because I don't want to feel like a puppet or a servant to even self-drawn orders. I learn as I go now. Change my ways as I feel like it. Obey my inner voice and play life by ear. If I set up goals I might miss something. If others want to excel in the improvement of their talents to the point of sacrifice then I'd say more power to them. Guess I'm content to be a B student. Making my moments count in harmless little joys of appreciation, working only when I feel like it, and filling up on contentment is good enough for me.

Now I'm beginning to think this blog should come to an end. As for the end of my life, I'd like to be able to come back and tell you how it was. But I'm afraid I wouldn't remember.

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