Nothing is sustainable.
Meaning, all things change, yes. That is, all known things twist and turn, ebb and flow, live and die. Except nothing. Nothing sustains. Infinitely.
In living this life, I try to sustain stability. I try to maintain equilibrium and flow with my emotions and the forces I encounter. Sometimes I walk, and other times I crawl. Still other times I sit still and notice the void. I breathe in. I breathe out. My consciousness cycles like waves at the beach, synchronized with my breathing. Water stretches out, then recedes. As do we.
I see it again. My own mortality. I know it is coming, but when? Do I have a say? Is it predetermined, part of a grand plan?
Can I imagine myself out of these thoughts I've been molded with? Am I just consciousness, perceiving itself? And what is consciousness, anyway? Awareness? What are these things? What is the nature of existence?
Right now the dishwasher is cycling, and there is a rhythmic rattle or clang of a dish, and it sounds like a dog is barking, but away in the distance, and much too rhythmically to actually be a dog. Such a thing hooks my wandering attention and distracts me, long after my attempts to relay the experience in writing have droned on, and the experience and sounds shifted. While I tried to capture the sand in my hand, it seeps away and I'm left with something different.
I struggle. I struggle well. Struggling is my super-power. I'm Struggle Man. More powerful than a stomach tied in knots. Able to leap large gaps of logic in a single bound.
There's merit, so I'll share it. I'm writing because I care. Maybe someday you will, too. Perhaps you already do.
There is a light. And when that light goes out, it is very dark. In fact, there's nothing darker.