What of the End?

In the end, it is love that will remain and everything we do in the name of it will travel with us to eternity.

Sharon Pillai
ILLUMINATION

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Photo by Alex Wigan on Unsplash

Here’s a thought:

Nothing here matters.

The larger, overarching reality that encompasses this existence isn’t concerned nor overly interested with our . . . anything. Nothing we do here impacts whatever exists over there. I suddenly realize how truly ant-like I am.

A glass of wine and once again I have entered my existential haven, the safe space where I can attempt to shed my own human captivity and lean as far as my little mind can take me across the great divide.

It’s the smallest sense of knowing something that’s (as Dylan once sang) blowin’ in the wind where you catch a glimpse of something in the air just before it’s no longer in sight.

I’m always reaching for it though. Through that strange blue-black sky at twilight, the ideas that quietly enter my head and cut through all the din of common thought. Forever leaning, endlessly longing.

Rumi once wrote that the reed from the riverbank will become a flute that plays its sad song when it remembers where it once was but is no longer. Such a strange homesickness for origin.

One day, when this mortal coil is dispensed with and I am in flight between this world and the next, my beacon will be that feeling.

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Sharon Pillai
ILLUMINATION

I'd like to think I have wit and grit. I like the right hemisphere of my brain more than the left. I need the left though for the words.