The Bluff
I found myself sitting on a sheer bluff over looking the Pacific Ocean in Northern California on New Years Eve. It was one of those accidental moments when you find yourself alone with only the hypnotic pull of the nature that surrounds you to keep you company. It was cold and wet being that it had been raining a majority of that week. The black clouds whisked by rapidly, trying desperately to cloak the sun, yet giving in slightly by allowing tiny holes to mysteriously appear releasing piercing rays of bright sunlight that seemed to kiss the earth on which I sat. The sounds and the smell of the sea filled my senses as I lazily sat and watched her perform the timeless dance with the sand on the beach below. The chilled wind bit my face, eventually numbing my exposed skin to the blustery cold. As I sat on the ground overlooking the sea, I pulled my extremities close to my torso in the hope to create a warm sanctuary inside of my jacket and warm myself from the brisk temperature so that I may prolong this tiny, impromptu sabbatical just a little bit longer.
This is my religion. It was there, atop that steep bluff that I stood face to face with the creation. I got a sense that it was all here, all around me - in the sea, the waves, the sand, the air and the grass that grew beneath me feet. Creation was in the miracle that is my body; this miraculous machine that gives me function and allows me to move about this world. Creation was and is in this unity that I share with all things. The fact that I am, that I exist, is the one bond that I share with each and every thing, from the tiniest atomic particle to the vastness of the universe itself. The fact that I exist is the dichotomy of feeling so small within the scheme of things, yet offers the largest possibility to have a significant impact on the world around me. From that bluff, I am got a sense of what it truly means to be ready for anything.
In the silence of my thoughts I started thinking about the purpose; why am I here, why do I exist? Is it enough to be standing in the wait until the whole reason for existence becomes front and center? Is it enough that my purpose may have already come and gone and I was in such a deep sleep that I never even noticed? Is it enough that I am just here to take up space and consume a share of the limited resources in an already over burdened world? From that cold, windy bluff, I questioned the sanctity of my existence.
But then I got this nagging feeling that I shouldn’t be so concerned with all of this. Maybe my purpose is to not have a purpose. Maybe there is a certain dignity in not having relevance. Maybe it is through this letting go of the fear that I don’t count, that I will discover the point - to live and then to die. The rest is just stuff that happens.
These thoughts ultimately lead me to think about the people that walk in and out of my life; these people that own a share in my existence. I mean, I can sit here forever and regurgitate the “what happened” and the impact that “what happened” left with me. But through this process of falling down face first onto memory lane, will I realize that each of these people that I write about have had a profound impact on my life? Though at the time I never really noticed, each of them became a part of who I am now. Some are my love, security and sense of self worth. Others are a sense of loss, rejection and what never was. Few become my strength, commitment and honesty. Some are a sense of discovery of that person I long to be, that tiny, patient voice in my head, while others are my pain, rage and disappointment. There are those that represent my fear, selfishness and lack of respect for others, while some become my sense of charity, kindness and community. Finally, there are the very select few that become my future and feeling of being responsible for someone other than myself.
Whenever I think of these aspects of my life, I think of each of these people that are that aspect for me. I wonder if their purpose was to be what they were for me and my purpose was to be what I was to them. It gives me a feeling that perhaps this is the almighty “purpose”. It isn’t a single defining point or pinnacle that we reach or attain that makes our life worth it and valid. Perhaps it is the smallest of interaction with someone other than ourselves. Perhaps it is simply going about this life living for right now with those around us. Maybe it is this simple of a task - to simply be the life that others breathe into you.
It is like these words that I write. You, the reader, are the ones that breathe the life into them. They become for you what you need them to be. Whether you hate them or you like them. Whether you are moved by them or you think they are bullshit. Whether you think these words cast me a sinner, a saint or somewhere in-between, it is you that gives them life. After all, if these words that I throw into the stream went unread, they simply wouldn’t exist and therefore would have no purpose.
Perhaps the mere fact that we simply exist gives us purpose. Maybe our purpose is like the words thrown out into a stream waiting for someone to come along, pick them up and breathe life into them.
I have to admit that this concept frightens me. I am terrified to think what I am for others; for those I have loved and lost, friends I have lost touch with, family I don’t to talk to anymore and the faceless people that I refused to acknowledge or talked nasty to because of my bad day. Is this what I want to be? I guess this is the choice - a choice between heaven (connectedness) and hell (isolation), which must be made with every drawn breath. To choose a life isolated from everything that we share a bond with and live out a life alone or to connect and accept the empty space that was left blank for each of us in this fragmented tapestry of existence. Perhaps it isn’t up to us to figure out how we fit into the tapestry, but it is up to each of us to determine the colors, shadows and highlights of this empty space.
