A day late. Something that hasn’t happened in years, and not exactly within the scope of my intention. Yet, despite the title, it is not longer Monday. And wonder consumes me almost absently as my contemplation seems not to know any navigation for this void.

If we allow honesty to prevail, my own mental conjurings inspired the idea that might be I should have taken the delay as some sign. That perhaps this trope has long overplayed its potency, with a welcome far gone from overstayed.

Might be time to give this up, he thinks.

Or maybe I’m just hungover.

Minus this moments bout of melancholy, I had been feeling alright. A bit of travel to rejuvenate the wonder. And some time away has made this house feel less like the cage I had been perceiving it as on too often an occasion. Dissatisfaction a bit abated, and the swirl of nostalgia and ‘not yet to be’ has a feeling of presence in the present a bit more profound. Cannot gain footing upon the abyss, nor can roots to deep grant the space for growth. And the growing is a must for as long as I can muster. To be sedentary would be as though I’d cease to be.

Had a discussion earlier today. The idea was about getting trapped in micro-thinking. Confined to limited timelines, we still manage to narrow our thoughts down to the more instantaneous. So easily short-sighted, we so often cannot see ourselves as the creators of some future misfortune. Perpetually kicking the philosophical can down the road. And so are small minds also so very selfish. Not that we can help being such ways at least a hint. Were it not for a bit of the ol’ self-service, the necessities for existence might not be met.

But there is not so simple path to more macro-mentalities. And a portion of that, I’m sure, is how terrifying big thinking is. Even when you’re addicted, perhaps hopelessly, to ponderings beyond centrally located simplicities. Add in a pinch or two of cynicism, and the ‘who cares’ emerge abundant and with ease. Why care about any fate beside ours and our own. Suffering elsewhere need not hold impact in our personal territories, right?

But that is the curse of small thought. So finitely focused, we cannot even begin to conceive how it all weaves its way back around, eventually. In the very moments in which we find ourselves, the ripples of some ancestral apathy have found their way to rule some portion of our collective lives. Border disputes and socio-economic woes, deterioration of intellect and unsustainable lifestyle electives- so much of these are from cognition from yesteryear that was either incapable or uncaring enough to wonder what monsters might grow in the wake.

And while many might like to blame some technological imperatives, that isn’t the whole story, even if it makes up a large current portion. As a species, we could barely handle the television, so it is a potent argument without much effort to say our current digital detention centers are even more damaging and unescapable.

And while all those woes are valid plenty, I cannot claim it as excuse enough to not keep trying.

Because there is much still to this life. So very much. And not just in the sentience of your dear narrator, but in all this life that covers our little space rock like a benevolent plague. And it hurts, this business of being. And it can appear unbearable with regularity, but not perpetually. There is light, and it takes the darkness to understand it. And with all the cruelty of nature and our species peers, it may seem like agony insurmountable- but it isn’t true. And sometimes a single life isn’t enough to break out of certain patterns, but that does not imply impossibility. For if a single life is the only timeline for some march towards the brighter tomorrow, we would all likely still be in the caves unable to escape the shadows we make. We might not have even come down from the trees to walk and wonder about this thin geological crust.

It is not guaranteed, this better-lit future, but isn’t impossible either. And whatever the probabilities are, only means that the chance exists for more than what was and is. If not more than a sliver, that could be crack enough to eventually break something beautiful open. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but maybe for someone else. Someday.