11/3/16 –  with minimal edits.

When you think about it, the fact that each of us encounters any other specific person is incredible, given the number of people who have ever lived on earth. The fact that each of us is exists at the same time is a wonder.

This assumes reincarnation doesn’t exist and each soul is unique to its human body.  This also assumes that existence isn’t entirely random.  The human encounter is only a marvel if you believe in free will.  These are assumptions I neither refute nor accept, which is code for to be discussed in another post.

Bermuda, staircase, stairs, orange, dress, fashion
Not sad here, just hungry. Bermuda 2016.

But I digress. There has been this repetitive inkling for as long as I can remember; an utterance that seems to come from deep in my soul. It comes at random moments, completely unprovoked.

I miss . . .

Its not fair to describe it as a thought because it happens during what I would call a mind silence, a distinct absence of thought. Perhaps a random moment of unintentional meditation.

It’s followed by an ache that varies from mild to, at times, wretched. It is a soul ache, a dull, central gnawing of my core. It emanates from the same place where the pain of losing my father is felt but it’s unrelated, although I miss him terribly.

It is not the feeling of missing something I have lost, but rather something (or someone) of mine, thatI have never possessed.  An obvious supposition is that it’s true love,  but that notion feels off. Too trite and superficial; an effect of conditioning by society to want something that doesn’t even exist as we think of it. But that’s a thought path for another day.

What I miss feels like more.  Like everything.  Like the Answer.

I feel as though I will one day claim what I miss. I hope so, yet I don’t feel pulled to discover it. It will reveal itself when appropriate.

Perhaps when I know what it is that I miss, my life will cease to exist in the literal sense. Meaning that on one’s deathbed, people sometimes gain a better understanding of life’s meaning.

Or perhaps my life will cease in a philosophical sense, meaning that the need to discover, to get out of my comfort zone, to explore, and to be comfortable in discomfort will end. In which case I wouldn’t even want that. Life was dormant before this drive and would seem effectively over if it was lost.

Boobs, museum of sex, bouncy room, breasts
Not in my comfort zone.

Perhaps it is fulfillment or human connection. The desire to understand and be understood.  That’s the purpose of human existence, anyway.

Okay, attempting to define life’s meaning seems like a good place to end this post! If you read to this point, thank you! Feel free to comment below or email me for a conversation.

 

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