ell, what about it? you might ask. I’m getting to that; hang onto your berets! Oh yes, I’m the poet. Hang onto your chins then . . . Philosophically, “Existentialism” relates to free will. But is everyone in the world free? Not by a long shot. Some because of their own mistakes. Others because they were born into bad situations, or were in the wrong place at the right time. Some are imprisoned by fear, doubt, anger, even hate — stemming from the scars of experience and loss; the twisty ties that bind.

But what binds all of us together? The mere fact we exist. We share this wondrous hurtling planet at precisely the same point in time, and that’s pretty astounding! If the degree of closeness of our D.N.A. isn’t enough to convince you, being here now should certainly give you a sense of warmness toward your fellow human beings. It’s like we’re part of one big messy superfamily. Sure, a bickering dysfunctional splintered family group (sound “familiar”?), yet a family nevertheless!

What does it matter? Good grief, must every paragraph begin with a question?!? Okay, I’m the one writing this so I guess that could be construed as my fault. Guess I’ve answered my own question then! Back to your question. Which I considerately composed for you. Everything matters. Life matters. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.

What I’m trying to say is, and that isn’t a question, don’t let it pass you by. Don’t let it slip away while you’re blinking. Approach this gift of life with your eyes wide, your heart too, or you’ll miss the best parts.


Fraught by doubt from its conception

Against all odds and every even

Life is like a game of chance

You’re here and then you’re leavin’!


Frights and blights may long divert us

Plagues and lags might weigh like boulders

Paths can stray or stall or wender

Hauling worlds upon our shoulders


Existential truths allude

While Gravity our ankle grips

Minds will query, ambitions tarry

As the moment’s memory of detail slips


Yet by birth we all share one thing

That none can ever quite remove

The quest for freedom, a yenning spirit

To live unshackled within our groove


And as the record spins its song

The needle dulling at each turn

We fondly crackle-pop with age

And cherish lives well-learned


It’s not the distance traveled

Nor the wrinkles we attain

What matters in the end will be

The texture of the rain

What I remember most will be

Soul-dancing in the rain.

~ Published ~
August 25, 2009

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