All for the story, or so often has been heard said. Through chaos and control, every pleasant memory and painful experience, even those that were so damaging effort is made to force their residence away to the forgotten. All we do, or is done in this life is for the tale told by our very existence. And each of our stories are never known in completion by the teller. They who remain after are the only ones who will ever truly know what it is our lives said.

So, what has your story told thus far?

Hard to say, as we are always in media res of each moment. Perhaps the current occupation of contemplation is fixed upon some recent tragedy. Or victory. Or it could be that you are adrift between the last shores of what was and the yet unreached ‘to be’. And when that landfall is met, might we be conqueror or savior we end up being, or likely something betwixt those dichotomies. Will it bear enlightenment, or do we simply house the unknown infection set to decimate the future by the will of some ignorance unknowingly harbored in our souls?

Could it be paradise beyond the waves, who can say? I often allow too much cynicism to wholly think towards such conclusions, yet as I do, the reminder arrives that just because something is improbably, that does not damn it as impossible.

It is a simple but unsustainable perspective that thinking back is too often part of my mind lately. And while the past, even if not remembered in clarity, is part of us- it is still unchanging and so regularly serves as some snare that restricts the future.

The very idea of past recollection should be a learning process to prevent repetition. Even if not consciously, every former self and setting sets the foundation for the current character being played. It isn’t exact or foolproof, but our memories at their best can contribute to a more vast knowledge as the march of time takes us ever forward.

Yet, there has been enough observation to know that a fear has been mongered among the human story that breeds stagnation in these times in which the species currently resides. Well-funded and reinforced narratives of superficiality appear near inescapable while all that with a more genuine essence seems to struggle for survival. The more experimental and far-reaching aspects have found themselves downtrodden,  while anything worthwhile of the collections of traditional have been reduced to some syndicated nostalgia themed bait, made to lead further astray and into a trap of golden yesterdays that if they ever were, seem to always miss the point of what made them glimmer to begin with.

So, is the story of this species destined to be some poorly penned tragedy? A whimper with no sustain?

While so many signs from the sycophantic portions of our society send our thoughts to the din of doom and disaster, that is quite so. Not entirely, not truly. For though they are hidden and hard fought, pockets still exist in this tech-terror drenched world. I assure you, for even though the conglomeration of corporate greed devours relentlessly so much of what used to constitute the freedom of mind and spirit, they haven’t gotten it all. Not yet. And, me thinks, that those wells are not as dry as they might seem. Risk is involved, but it is still possible to harbor spaces that incite resistance. And that isn’t some theoretical proposition drawn up in the abstracts of mind. It has been tried and tested again and again, even by the very fool that writes to you now. Because if you find a few of the right kinds of folks, and there more of us than one might initially perceive- that inexplicable and absolutely necessary expression of human spirit can still be won and wielded.

And if you don’t believe these words as written, you can ask anyone in my living room two nights ago. Cultivated in some ways for decades, upon invitation a few such souls met and made joyful noise, breaking bread and sharing heart in an autumn afternoon and evening. For with enough inventiveness and openness, there is still plenty left of the indominable drive that can house portions of the positive energy of humanity.

Is it some perfect formula? Surely not. And still, there will be self-serving lupine types shrouded in the guise of artistic and empathetic lambs. Yet look around and you might find more of what you seek in others than you might originally conceive. And a healthy weariness of first impressions isn’t an awful stance, and that can go either way. Those that appear so grand can end up duds, or worse. And those that might be a bit off-putting may just need a chance again under more appealing circumstances to show a nature that resides beneath. But every once in a while, some might appear as spectacular as the seem at onset, and only fester in benevolence as time goes on.

It is hard, these days, to find the light. And at least part of that is by design of those that would shed their very soul if the profit margin were enticing enough. But the glimmer isn’t gone, and nurtured well enough, we can find the full conflagration of what it means to be alive and living with the strive towards the brightness that everyone at some point hopes for. Cherish it, when it is around. In yourself (which I personally find difficult), and in the others than make up the cast of existence. Love it today, and now. Love the people, today and now. For it could be gone, in a moment and unexpected. Even when it always invents new ways and rediscovers the tried and true, hope can faulter. And those that inspire it can be lost. As eventually, every story ends.

Yet, this ache for purpose is more universal than we may be led to believe. In both intellectual and imbecile, the desire for more, for purpose is so often there, even if only manifested in an incalculable frustration. Even idiots yearn for meaning. So go out, and seek a bit. And even if not what might have been anticipated, there is always a hint of it to be found somewhere. Somehow.