crowings

For most of my life I've felt a certain lack of fulfillment, a want for some specific, eternal Truth, some construct to provide my life with meaning, or failing that, at least context. In certain ephemeral moments I seemed to glimpse this Truth, some weird premonition from beyond the veil that dispersed as quickly as it came, and left nothing but a deep impression upon me. But I could never fully recall it, so I would move on. Slowly this want wore on me, and at times I began to feel hollow. It seemed a path was screaming out to me, but I was deaf to its call. I tried to fill it over, compensating with an overabundance of zeal, mitigating with compromise, justification, apathy and pity. The path I chose required no sympathy, no accountability, only a sort of gusto, a willingness to make light of all things and attach oneself to nothing but the free air. Still I felt conflicted, like destiny was watching me pass by, yet urging me toward some hidden way.

I thought I'd glimpsed a vision of Life, as it should be, pure and free of all the ridiculous uncertainty and harrowing meaninglessness that threatened me so much, without second-guesses, without struggles and manipulations, where my dreams reached out and grasped the unknown frontier instead of some intangible longing.

So I thought.

The more time passes, the more I become convinced that what I glimpsed wasn't the future, wasn't my destiny or my purpose. If it was anything at all, it was simply a possibility, just some potential lying in wait for the right circumstances. If that's true, then the Life I seek can never be far from me, and it's always waiting for me. It wasn't a path I failed to follow, it was a choice for me to take.

That gives me comfort, at least, being so prone to the feeling that something is missing in my life. My dreams always aim at the horizon. No matter how dark or lonely the road becomes, I see only promise in what is ahead.