Well, what about it? you might ask. I’m getting to that; hang onto your berets! Oh yes, I’m the poet. Hang onto your chins then . . . Philosophically, “Existentialism” relates to free will. But is everyone in the world free? Not by a long shot. Some because of their own mistakes. Others because they were born into bad situations, or were in the wrong place at the right time. Some are imprisoned by fear, doubt, anger, even hate — stemming from the scars of experience and loss; the twisty ties that bind.
But what binds all of us together? The mere fact we exist. We share this wondrous hurtling planet at precisely the same point in time, and that’s pretty astounding! If the degree of closeness of our D.N.A. isn’t enough to convince you, being here now should certainly give you a sense of warmness toward your fellow human beings. It’s like we’re part of one big messy superfamily. Sure, a bickering dysfunctional splintered family group (sound “familiar”?), yet a family nevertheless!
What does it matter? Good grief, must every paragraph begin with a question?!? Okay, I’m the one writing this so I guess that could be construed as my fault. Guess I’ve answered my own question then! Back to your question. Which I considerately composed for you. Everything matters. Life matters. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.
What I’m trying to say is, and that isn’t a question, don’t let it pass you by. Don’t let it slip away while you’re blinking. Approach this gift of life with your eyes wide, your heart too, or you’ll miss the best parts.
Fraught by doubt from its conception
Against all odds and every even
Life is like a game of chance
You’re here and then you’re leavin’!
Frights and blights may long divert us
Plagues and lags might weigh like boulders
Paths can stray or stall or wender
Hauling worlds upon our shoulders
Existential truths allude
While Gravity our ankle grips
Minds will query, ambitions tarry
As the moment’s memory of detail slips
Yet by birth we all share one thing
That none can ever quite remove
The quest for freedom, a yenning spirit
To live unshackled within our groove
And as the record spins its song
The needle dulling at each turn
We fondly crackle-pop with age
And cherish lives well-learned
It’s not the distance traveled
Nor the wrinkles we attain
What matters in the end will be
The texture of the rain
What I remember most will be
Soul-dancing in the rain.