I used to understand life. It’s like building sandcastles. You start with a nice flat spot on the beach, packed tightly to create the foundation. Next, a little damp sand tamped in a bucket for the rooms. Finally, a few shells and ten buckets of water later the moat will complete your masterpiece. That is until the tide rises and washes it all away.
It’s funny how long we spend building our fragile creations. Instinct warns you’re only a wave away from watching it fall, but still you scour the sand for hours looking for jewels to frame it.
What frightens me the most is the indifference. It’s not like we run around trying to stop the destruction. We sit and watch as grain by grain it disappears back to nothingness. It would make sense if there were tears. At least then I could see the meaning, the connection, but the lack of response leaves me wondering. Why build at all?
Maybe we fill our time with building to avoid the truth. While sitting in silence we’re force to face the one person we’re experts at avoiding: Ourselves. Every decision, the mistakes, the hopeless fallings and failings of our lives scream out. Nothing could be louder than that silence. The one that makes you realize you’re wrong or, worse yet, right.
When our hands are idle the universe sneaks in. It whispers and screams all the things you’ve been missing while on the move. You can be sure all the hunches and passing thoughts nagging you relentlessly will show themselves, in a prismic light show that will slam against your brain like a lightning bolt. When the smoke clears, if you’re lucky, you’ll find some peace, but more likely it will just leave more questions.
Maybe that’s the point. We don’t stop building because in the silence there are questions. One’s we don’t know the answers to and leave our brains slightly singed. So why stop to listen at all?
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“…I’ll keep searching till they find me…”