There is a distinct part of the human existence that is called to something more than ourselves. We search out that which is beyond us and seems  to perpetually elude us: that something that floats just beyond our grasp and understanding. We seek it all the while knowing we can not obtain it. That is where the comfort comes from.

I have two wooded lots on the farm and both of them hold a particular purpose. One insulates and isolates from the sounds of the highway and the train tracks. The other creates an isolated pocket of nature and quietude within its small boundaries. There the rustle of the paper birch’s bark resembles more a flapping stack of papers than a tree skin. There the sound of bird’s flipping leaves with there beaks, seeking food, is nothing more than a white noise of background ambience. A scan of the ground reveals no signs of the birds.

Here in this place is where I go to seek that which is beyond me. The ethereal foreverness of searching. In truth I am only a short distance for the house, the phone and the computer but there I am on the precipice of that place of unknown. That longing that yearns within begins to send forth feelers seeking to draw in some small bit of something.

Some call it a spiritual or religious experience. Yet it transcends that definition. It is not an active seeking. It is just something that is. The stars call some men. The depths call some and the extremes of heights, weather and health call men to test their endurance. This again goes beyond that. It is not an activity that one pursues, It is part of being.

There I am alone with thoughts that are beyond me and always will be. It in those woods that I discover my frailty and smallness. I am confronted with my mortality amidst the death and decay. It is here that I find sublime beauty beyond my skills to capture.

HGoldenBW

What is it in us that continues to search for something all of our lives? What keeps us from being fulfilled by anything that we obtain? Is it a blessing or a curse that we are end our days with the same thirst and hunger that drives us in our youth?

We spend our last waning breathes still reaching for something beyond our grasp. That which has kept us going and moving forward to this point. That which in a real sense has kept us sane — now it becomes that which causes to wish to take a pause. To settle here a while before death. Now that source of purpose, desire and sanity begins to drive us insane.

There is still something there beyond our vision. Something beyond our grasp. Has all of life really brought us to this point? Have we been driven forward just to sit here no closer to answers than we were at birth? In the end are we just destined to be as filled with longing and doubt as we have been throughout life?

Makes one ponder the purpose of it all.

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