You can remember a lot of things looking out into an opaque black room. You see the backs of your corneas radiating what little light they’ve retained, causing little flickers, little teases of light to flash through your line of vision. You remember a lot of things in this moment.
Optimistically, this room will eventually be light, hiding the terrifying memories from you forever. Pessimistically, this room will remain dark forever, and you fear you’ll never escape the horrible and daunting memories that flicker past. Existentially, you don’t need light when you’re dead, therefore, this room is just swell.
But the memories are what you think about while you’re here. You never actually remember perfect details because well, the fact is is that things change, and you don’t have tangibility to back up your theoretical image of your past. That old field you walked by when you were just a baby: grocery store. That old school you used to go to: ash. Every person that you knew when you were a toddler?
Existentially, they’ll all be dead someday.
It’s not really important what you see, because quite frankly it’s not exact enough, however, it’s that you see anything at all. That you can grasp some sort of image out of complete chaos. You see the metaphorical silver linings that already passed you and reach out to them to allow yourself to feel again and again and again, missed opportunity.
Take three more steps backwards out of that room now, stop reminiscing just long enough to get a hold of yourself. Now take three steps back, three steps back, and about face. There you are, staring at yourself in a mirror. This is you now. Introducing the ghost of Christmas present. Now look yourself in the face and realize that you’re not who you were in that cold, dark, room. Look yourself in the face and realize what you’ve over come.
Look yourself in the face and realize that, existentially you’ll be dead one day, so why not live now.
Look at yourself long and hard, and realize what it is you’ve accomplished since all those horrible horrible memories, all those bad things you saw in that room, came to fruition. Now go back.
Walk back into the dark and console your past self that everything is going to be just fine. Everything is going to be okay. Take those little flickers in the back of your corneas and say: “It’s all right, really, it’ll be okay”
Notice the consoling hand on your back.
Existentially, the world will implode one day, and the sun will no longer reach us with it’s light. Existentially our only destiny is to be soil. Is it strange that this comforts me?