Reflections of a Tired Soul

I wasted so much time dragging this body shell around and living for the expectation it was due. You see, I realized the truth too late in my allotmment of material experience. It was exploitation of naievete, I think. I'm not the better for it, nor may I be consoled that any chunk of universe is wiser, or enhanced by one brief flash--of I. What then is left... a dieing crush of bones and of regret? What may I serve? What vestiges remain of a cosmic stopover that may not have worked too well? We may yet learn. Those old, bedraggled marchers still await a last parade...there is light there. I have the shell; I have the moment to reflect. I have the peace. I have the everlasting now, into which I pour this crumbling soul, this shell that I did not create, but knew. I let it stew. And mine it is to watch, to care for, to wonder at. See, it is the wonder I am given-- diminished bones and all. With the closing of my eyes, it is there; the miracle is there. Always, it is there. ~