I, forever, and other Pointless Thoughts 11.18.03

At the rate I'm going now, I will have no kids, no genetic legacy. The random protein pairings on my genetic code will find their end when I die. No child will have my eyes or my hands. The stories told will be of the infamous (probably not) uncle, great uncle, and then nothing. I will be yet another life that lived and died on the earth with no story to be handed down, no mark, just a dead end branch on a family tree.

When I was younger, I was convinced I would leave my mark. I would be known. At once I thought I would be an artist, until I realized my vision outweighed my talent. Then, I believed I would be a singer, until it became apparent my love of music was much stronger than the sound of my voice. For awhile, I truly thought I would be an actor, but after several community theatre plays I came to the conclusion I just wasn't a good actor. At least, not in the community theatre forum...or maybe I just say that to ease the blow.

There's a part of me that wishes to carry on, to be immortal. I am still not sure if this springs from a need to make a difference, to change the world in some small way, that would lead to other small changes, that lead to a universal change of heart. Or, maybe this springs from the universal ego who fears non-existence, to fade like a star in the heavens who leaves first traces of gases and dust, but then over time these too, spread in the vacuum of space until no thing is left, only a void with the memory of light.

I lead a simple life, with few friends. The friends I tend to make are always in the developmental crossroads of life, and when they make their strides forward in their attempts to make their mark, I stay behind in the valley in which we met; staring at the roads ahead of me unsure of which path is mine. I make no forward advances, not on the paths already laid down, nor do I make new for others to follow.

I am the epitome of the dreamer, living in the realms of the mind, bringing forth no substance. I live high in my mind, questioning my purpose, and finding none. I work a job, pay some bills, have a hobby or two. I get by. I am a peaceful fool.

I just want to be remembered.

I fear the future where my body lies in the ground beneath a small stone marker, that hasn't seen flowers in decades. Just a name, a birthdate and a day of death. People will walk on the ground above to bring memorials to those they have loved.

These are the thoughts of the ego. The desire to know forever, and for forever to know "I."