I open a journal I wrote ten years ago.
I recognize the handwriting, but who the hell wrote this drivel?
I write in my journal today…
Will the so-called ‘me’ who may read this a decade from now
Have the same reaction?
Will he recognize the “today-me” AT ALL?
I wonder if God has a journal:
“What did I write just a few thousand years ago? Let’s see…”
She opens it to Leviticus:
“I recognize My handwriting, but who the hell wrote this drivel?”
I know the Scripture about “He is the same yesterday, today, and forever”
But is that true in any sense I am capable of comprehending?
In some manner I can’t fathom, the “me” that began as one fertilized egg,
A single Pristine Cell, fully pregnant with all the possibilities of Life
Will be the same “me” that draws his last breath as a decrepit old man,
With a bad knee, bad gas, gray hair and dementia,
Incapable of controlling his bowels.
Or remembering his own name.
What do my Pristine Fertilized First Cell, and my Dying Old Man have in common?
What is this mirage called ‘permanence’?
Like a man in the desert dying of thirst,
I keep crawling towards that shimmering vision of “unchanging water”
And it keeps turning into dry sand in my mouth.
A couple centuries from now I’ll be gone.
Everyone I know will be gone.
Everyone and Everything alive with me right now
—every tree, every blade of grass, every animal and insect,
The birds I hear singing, this cat purring on my lap,
Me listening to the birds while I feel my cat’s soft fur under my fingers
—ALL of us will be gone.
Like waves on the ocean
One wave of Life washes up on the beach in the moonlight
And recedes back into the unfathomable fathoms,
Making room for the next wave that arises from the Deep.