What is the meaning of life? they always ask. Why are we here?
They ask expecting words in response, as though words can contain an answer. What is life? I cannot say.
But I know.
We all know.
Life has meaning outside of a word, of a sentence, of a book. The meaning of life cannot be expressed, cannot be contained in any limited human construct. The meaning of life is contained in its very existence.
So to all who have life, it’s meaning should be apparent. It is not cheapened through words; it is not written in any book, or damaged by the limit of human reason. Life simply is, and all who have it know.
To those who have ran through a sprinkler on a hot summer day,
you know.
To those who have danced in the rain when no one was watching,
you know.
To those who have felt a tear on their cheek,
who have faltered,
who have stumbled,
who have clung to their pillow and cried and cried and cried,
who have felt the sting of rejection,
and the warmth of welcoming arms,
you know.
To any who have kissed a lover’s lips,
who have heard the nighttime wind whisper through the trees,
who have stood on a hill and marveled at the stars and the moon and all the universe,
who have run through a field as the sun dipped the earth in liquid gold and breathed in sunshine until day gave birth to night,
surely, you know what life is.
Life is in the hum of cicadas in late August;
it is in the grass,
in the soil,
in the heat of the sun against your cheek;
it is in every breath,
in the sweet scent of spring,
in a pair of lips against your neck,
in warm arms,
laughter,
a heart beat. Thump.
Life carries itself in the very wind.
It walks with dignity and steels itself with courage.
Life is fearless, passionate. It wears a scarlet gown.
Life explains itself to no one.
What is the meaning of life, they always ask. Why are we here?
Why, indeed? I should say, you must already know.
Infinity and Beyond 