He smiled for the last time, at the last thought, as the last memory faded, the last air expelled, and the last of the light of his eyes turned toward an endless black expanse. There had been many beginnings and many ends, but this one, was the last cycle. A new experience, replace by no experience at all. And just a moment before he had asked himself,
Was it worth it?
That moment had elongated, time stretched like honey pouring from a spoon. All of life didn't go racing by in a montage of all that had been, but there were faces, their eyes, and a trace of what it meant collected, like a single digit answer at the end of a near impossible calculation. A solution to a question that was always there, but never asked.
Look back, look forward, look today, look away. It doesn't matter which, each are the same. The time we spend and save, the time we waste and invest, it all amounts to nothing more than an expression of movement, to an unknown tune and steps never chosen to dance. All the importance, the arguments, the accomplishments and failures, delusions in a fevered dream. All-consuming in the moment, but meaningless in the grander scheme to which order has chosen not to trouble.
Was it worth it?
The question is nonsensical, for if time is a loop and future and past live continuously side by side, entangled, than there is no was, there is only is. The start is the end, the end the start, life is death and death is life. And the last is the first. The first time, the first thought, the first memory, the first breath, first entry into the darkness. A constant experience of firsts, with each also being lasts. Entirely unique. Never repeated and never kept. For this is no way to keep what is.
He twists the spoon of time, trying to slow the fall of honey in what he knows is a losing battle with his consciousness. Soon, the thoughts would stop. Finally, the thoughts will stop. For a thoughtful life doesn't make for a life of ease. Thoughts get in the way of comfort. Thought pick at the seams of safety and undermine the supports, the relationships. Thoughts entertain questions and deliver uncertainties, wear down resolve and hammer at cracks to steal confidence, and raise the shadows of doubt.
Was it worth it?
What kind of life is being lived if that question is even on the mind? A life spent in thought, questioning each decision, each experience, and passing uneducated judgement on the quality of what should require no thought at all. Mindlessness. Pure, unadulterated experience. Freedom that is only possible when the bars of thought have been removed. But without thought, what does experience become? Without thought, there is no experience, no memory, no prediction of what is to come. Without thought, there is no difference between time, nor is the difference between rock or water. Only through observation can stillness and flow be teased apart.
And now, it is too late. The honey of time has fallen and is pooling, spreading, enveloping the fractions of moments left to consume, as the final first arrives, and the darkness takes it all.
What is worth, when there is nothing left with which to compare?
Taraz
[ Gen1: Hive ]
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