I was meditating.
There are two worlds, I thought. One the physical world of interacting matter driven by energy – the world of the big bang the astronomers talk about and all that followed. But the other world, the real world, is the ‘being’ within, the intangible, the essence of things, the essence of me. The big bang world goes on and on recycling all that ever was and ever will be. Even the energy that drives it is recycled –- just matter coming together, particles mixing in the ether, combining, changing, parting; reservoirs and flows, nothing gained, nothing lost. But my real world is the world of my knowing; what I see, hear, think, feel, dream. And when my brain cells die I suppose this miracle will be all gone …. like a film on the screen, it has a life of its own that is absorbing at the time, but then it’s over and that’s it. Someday, when my angel decides, it will be over and this, my real world, will cease. Death is not nothingness, but the void of not ‘being’.
How, when the void comes, can I leave behind an invisible balloon full of experience for a child to grab with joy – a kite flying forever? Maybe a Hawkesbury River swan? An osprey on the wing? Can I receive a legacy from a great artist? A Renoir, a Michelangelo? Out from their voids will some aura wash around and into me? Am I then their ideas, their ways, their dreams? Do they bequeath me, in their wisdom, with some unfinished task? Am I needed? Do I have a purpose outside the recycling of matter?