Mayflies

9 Jan

Last night I had multiple dreams where I was living inside an epic movie.
I had to swim across a river to get into this house boat covered in flowers.
I had to fight a tree-monster that came out of a graveyard,  and then I flew away.
Writing School is beginning again,  and I keep thinking, the more I learn about writing, the more I learn about what life is.

Lately I want to risk whatever I have, whatever I can. Not saying I do it, but I want to be in that place. Everyone everywhere is talking about how we live a story.

It seems to be the trend lately
(thank you Donald Miller)
I don’t think it’s because it’s a new idea, but rather an ancient one,
as ancient as the story of humanity itself.

Life. Is. Short.
We are so far from the things we want and where we want to be
partially because of too much knowledge and not enough application.

We are overwhelmed with endless ideas and facts and all these”new” things but we don’t even really know how to be human. At least I don’t. It almost seems unfair. We have a few short years to get it right, but most of our attempt seem so futile. There are so many distractions. Even for those who think they know what a life well lived should look like, how much of that knowing is put into action? Or, on the flip side, how much of the action is simply outward attempt, but we don’t even know ourselves or deal with what really drives us to do anything? It’s all too complicated.

My new friend Charlotte from England, brought up that there are certain bugs, mayflies,  where the eggs develop in swamps for months only to hatch and live for a few hours, a few days at the most.

Why does that seem like our story? A couple I know, the wife was just given 24 hours to live.
I wonder what it’s like to be in that place, what sort of things run through your mind, how you must feel everyone of your senses to a degree you never thought was possible, the tips of your fingers on fire with energy, the deep sorrow around your eyes and filling your heart, knocking you down
yet building you up at the same time. The pain, making you realize all at once, how alive you are.

As those who have the Spirit of God in us, maybe we can begin to  see death as waking up. I know I am going to live forever, but it seems so strange, like a language I only know a few phrases in. I can hardly communicate. We hear a thousand times in a thousand ways, some form of “Carpe Diem”

Make your lives extraordinary.

But our attempts seems so frail, like the mayfly struggling to hatch, not even realizing a few moments is all he has. We are all dying. I am sorry if this is a rather bleak way to start my 2010 writing, but I am in a place where I would rather be honest then anything. I had a journal a few years ago that had written on the cover,
“Nothing is worth more than this day.”
I guess that’s where the hope comes in. Today we have today.
We have life. We have 24 hours.
We are a breathe, we are a vapor, but we are alive, now. Today.
I am not going to ask myself “What am I going to do?”, rather “Who am I going to be?”

I think if I really knew today was my last day I would be more concerned
about telling people “I love you” and less concerned about crossing off skydiving off my to-do list
(though that wouldn’t be a bad way to end it.)
I guess part of our story is that we are constantly forgetting how short
this all is, and then we are constantly reminded of it.

Only three things remain: faith, hope and love.
And the greatest of these is love.

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One Response to “Mayflies”

  1. Rebecca January 10, 2010 at 1:38 pm #

    It’s true! The idea of story is ancient. I like that you swam to a flower boat. As the mayflies moved over the water. Life is lovely. Graz’

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