Sometimes the meaning comes after the fact, and only then.
To be is to have emerged, coming into form out of nothing
but an idea based on what preceded it. A breath we take
to match the one taken before it, a chain of breaths we call
life and culture and civilization. An echo of yesterdays
that carry forth into tomorrow, the last one forgotten
as the next one kicks in, the breathing more important than
each inhalation, a continuous indefatigable process
that rises on the backdrop of its own wake and sound.
In the end, what we are left with are the echoes of yesterday,
and in those echoes we define not our impermanence and fragility,
on the contrary, we secure our eternity, even if just for a fleeting
moment; the only item that stands eternal is everything’s
passing nature, but, more importantly, and joking aside,
because the only way for eternity to exist is on the backdrop of a
fleeting moment, only then does it assume lasting form and meaning.
Sometimes the meaning comes after the fact,
and only then.
And the abridged edition:
In the end, what we are left with
are the echoes of yesterday, and in those echoes
we define not our impermanence and fragility, but our eternity,
which we admire and cherish, even if just for a fleeting moment.
The only item that stands eternal is everything’s passing nature, but,
more importantly, and joking aside, because the only way
for eternity to exist is on the backdrop of a fleeting moment,
only then does it assume lasting form and meaning.
Sometimes the meaning comes after the fact,
and only then.