My kind

Today is Christmas.

Some of my kind are with loved ones; some are with just random, passably nice, acquainted people.

We wish one another good things. We smile. We cheer.

Some reminisce. Some try to forget. Some are empty, and look about to fill their cup – and some are too full, and seek to empty.

Surrounded by distraction (and what better distraction than the happy kind), the realization is far from us.

Some are alone. Lost in thought, stuck in a place where there are no outcomes, not past, no future. Just the beating heart of the present, the mingling of the light and the dark, the silence of the soul, the acceptance of the realization.

Some of my kind made lenses to peer into what we think is an eye of a microbe. Some of my kind have been able to think about the cells on that microbe, and were able to see it… The myriad millions of their kinds, living, beyond our meek notice, in a vast cosmos of their own.


Others peered beyond the night sky, showing our little piece of real estate compared to the vastness around it. Surrounding us. Like a grain of sand crowded by other grains – surrounded by the endless sea.


Some of my kind showed us million of light years ahead and ago. They said that if you don’t know how to look, it is only a dark, endless void, ceaseless black.

We are infinitesimal.

Such a nothing in a sea of everything.

Yet we still wish one another good things, we cheer, we smile. Some thoughts are ephemeral, some are sincere, some are forced, some are called for. Few are poisonous; most, insignificant.

The realization is often far from us, surrounded by passably nice distraction.

The heart beats on.

Some of my kind can touch a guitar’s strings, and bloom something in others. Some of kind can put five words on a paper, and spark a thought, a realization, in others.

Some of kind can be slightly petty;others, thoroughly ruthless, and cruel. Most of my kind, walking listlessly through life, come to an infinitesimal nothing.

The heart beats on.

Some of my kind can throw you a smile, and bloom a moment, infinitely small, infinitely meaningful, in you.

The heart beats on with the acceptance of the realization that it must. We might as well fill the cosmos within.