I am alive.
Am I living?
Am I merely surviving?
Or, am I just waiting for my train?
Sometimes, life feels more like a waiting game. I am waiting for a train and while I wait, I am fitting in all of these daily tasks and obligations. Eventually, the train will come and I will have to get onboard. My train does not permit checked nor carry-on luggage. This train doesn’t take clothing or jewelry or companion animals. It will have to be just me. Everything and everyone I know will have to be left behind. The schedule for this train is tentative. There is a general idea of when the departure will take place based on certain factors, but those factors can change as time marches on and so- the departure time could change. Unlike airlines, I am not privy to these changes in schedule; I am not routinely receiving any updates. In the back of my mind, I have a sense of the shifts in departure time based on how the elements of my world are impacting my body.
Sometimes, it feels like my time will be short. Like it’s just a matter of a few years. And in some ways, I am hopeful that this will be the case since I am not sure I want to wait too much longer than that for my departure. Other times, I have this dread that the time will actually be long and in those moments, I am scared. Scared of being alone and having to manage all of the details on my own. Other people have people to help hold certain heavy burdens- distribute the tension over several muscled bodies. In my case, everything weighs down on me. Every single thing. And, in this specific moment, I carry it and attempt to have an air of lightness about it. It’s not a big deal. See, I can carry it, I am strong enough now. I just don’t know if I will be this strong later on. In fact, I can speak only for this morning- I can carry it myself this morning.
When I think about the train, I wonder if there really is a concrete destination. Or, will it be that once the doors close, it will be black and I will not have a conscious thought. Will it simply be – no more. Like before it was. Nothing until I arrived and entered consciousness as a wee babe. Will the end be the same?
So much of life’s activity for many people is all about what will happen when the doors close. A multitude of thoughts on what happens afterwards. So many bets are hedged on competing concepts of the eternal. My own upbringing and bent is towards a savior who love me. And, yet?
And, in the meantime, there is this burden of waiting and filling time. Trying not to watch the clock. And, trying not to waste nor to take for granted- my time. Not to mention the burden of ensuring I have not wasted God’s time in putting me here isn’t he first place- if that proves to be true, I will have wrath to face later. That is if once the doors close – it’s not just blackness.
In the present moment, I do have people. But their trains are likely to leave long before my train. And, when their train leaves, they will not be back. I must also make sure that I cherish each moment with these people now before their departure.
When they leave, I will have their belongings to look after and to organize and distribute. Some people have made me promise to place great care in the overseeing of their treasures, of not throwing them away; of not rendering them impertinent. That task of caring for others’ stuff will occupy my time for a period- it will fill time for a spell. Quite a long spell actually because they have a lot of earthly belongings which they have acquired from many exotic locations on their various journeys through time.
It’s a lot to take in. I shift. I adjust. I move my thoughts to the immediate task at hand. I must make my way to my station where I spend most of my days creating journeys for others. Helping others acquire memory and memorabilia while they wait for their own trains. And then later tonight, I will try to rest and rejuvenate for yet another day’s required tasks tomorrow. And the waiting time continues- for my train.
Am I just waiting for my train?
I am alive.