As a child, my mom was always amused that my favorite memory was of shucking corn in the rain. She always made me shuck outside, because the strings caught between the kernels seemed impossible to clean up. I’d only ever been lucky enough to get caught in a storm while shoving the green husks into Weis Markets bags once. I watched the rain come down, slowly melting clothes to skin, and there was no impulse to sprint to the back patio door with the grocery store bags of corncobs in tow. There was no impulse, no reaction, no movement whatsoever. I closed my eyes and relaxed until I felt myself falling away. Slowly, the world faded into darkness. And then, something beautiful happened.
It was one of those moments. Something happens to us, something surreal. It’s a moment where we take a trip inside ourselves. We see our lives as a scene in a movie, where we’re removed and everything, every tiny thing, is somehow significant. You’re standing, and watching, and listening, and breathing and feeling and then…
But what’s there to be found in drifting? What value could be found in something so particular to the moment, so insignificant in the grand scheme of our lives? What is the point? Actually, the point is that there is no point. At least, there isn’t now.
Take a moment to consider a possibility. You’re dead. No, more like, you’re dying. You’re in a hospital you can’t remember the name of, in some place you can’t recall, surrounded by people you don’t recognize. Anything you’ve done or gained up to this point won’t matter where you’re going. All you have left is the possibility that your soul, or something like it, might survive whatever’s down the track. You will, in those final moments, be forced to leave everything else, all you have in this world, behind. As the ties keeping you here on earth break, and as you fall into an eternal sleep, you’ll start to slowly drift away. When that time comes, I hope you’ve taken the time to get comfortable with it, the feeling of drifting. I hope you’ll face death with peace, unafraid of the drift that lies ahead, knowing how beautiful it is.
So finish this paper, put it down and close your eyes. You’d better start practicing now. Sit, listen, watch, breath, feel. Take some time to clear your mind, and rest like that for awhile. Our world is nothing. You’re part of nothing. You drift on in a meaningless existence, and despite what that means, you feel an inkling of happiness. You can’t feel the rain running over your eyelids, and you can’t hear your mom calling from inside the house. You’re just a six-year old kid, drifting inside, and you know you’ll be glad to have a home there someday.
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