Throughout our lives, things change but bare familiar. Like a son resembling the father, people are born, grow afraid to die, but die anyways. People fight over something new, we miss a past we embellish. Catastrophes strike and things we made end. We fall in love with people we know, and start to make decisions together. And because we fall in love other people fall in love after us. Our faces change but we do the same things. I type on a laptop, someone typed on a type-writer, and someone wrote with a quill. We see something that isn’t real but still makes us cry because it has it’s parallels to our life. Nothing we do will be truly new just as nothing anyone will do will be new. We induce our own patterns, the spark of love leads to the grief of death leads to the renewal of perspective leads to new love. But new love is love nonetheless. Grief is always grief, and our new perspectives are just another perspective, equal in value.
And this goes beyond the human condition. Meteors strike, stars are born and die, things spin around bigger things until they collide. Disease spread, a species gets a leg up, and that species will help a new one. The sun rises each day for the length of a day. And the debris from rocks will make the moons we tell stories about. The decomposition of life leaves bits that feed life, whether six feet under ground or in the stomach acids of a hyena.
Happy birthday, merry Christmas, and a happy new year 😉
Sam's Two English Cents 