Our waking hours

Morbid as it is, one day we won’t be here.

Sorry, I know that might jar, particularly with the number of people who’ve been claimed by Covid-19 but, for me at least, it’s something that never leaves me.

In fact, be it my age or losing my father-in-law, Brian, I know that the deity of death — for that is what it is — is ready for me, but then, life, in all its beauty and tragedy, is equally with me each day I wake up with another glorious day ahead of me.

I know you’ve heard it many times before but I’ll say it anyway: life is a gift and if we’re not careful, not because we don’t pack enough into it, we take it or rather too much of it for granted. I mean, even being able to write this blog is a gift — the seeing, sensing and the slight afterglow of knowing that I can.

Without being too bleary-eyed, look over your life and remember what you’ve done. It may not have gone exactly to plan and at times it’s gone positively off the rails, but it’s yours, nevertheless. No one else could have or has done it. In my case, I’m still amazed at the things I’ve done. Not that I’m comparing myself to anyone but if today was my last day, I’d like to think that my spirit and spiritual connection with all that I am and not just what I achieved, will stand the test of time. Then again, it might only be around for one generation and then everyone will forget me; and that’s fine — not that I’ve got a say in it.

The point I’m making is this: you’re here, alive. Whichever way you cut it, that’s a gift of the highest order. Sure, right now, it might feel a bit bland, a bit hollowed out, but you’re still here, still (as they say) fighting the good fight.

Have a wonderful Sunday.

Take care,

— Ju

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