Monday, January 4, 2010

Tempus fugit

The ancients believed that we come into the world with a finite number of breaths. And so to some extent we do, just not in the preordained way they thought. As I watch my exhalations take wing in the chilly morning air I remember that each one could at any moment be my last. Some people think I am morbid but I think it's stranger still to ignore the transitory nature of your existence. There is great beauty in impermanence, and once you accept that you are free.

3 comments:

runnerfrog said...

J.L. Borges had a dream about this in Edinburgh, and beautifully described it in "The Conspirators".

Claire said...

What a beautiful photograph. I love the idea of breaths becoming butterflies. If they really did, what a pretty world it would be!

Tai said...

Claire, that would be a lovely world; full of caterpillars and milkweed and lupine and eucalyptus trees.

Cristian, everything comes back to Borges, in the end. As it should.