Prospects, Memories and the Moment.

The ageing process isn’t quite as bleak as some of us sometimes paint it. It is true that as each second passes, the bag of memories gets fuller and the reservoir of prospects diminishes. But it’s not until that final second of life that one is full and the other empty. It’s an ongoing process that starts at birth and drips steadily away like an egg timer until death.

I must admit, seeing it like that does rather vindicate the notion that the whole process is utterly pointless. Memories have no substance; prospects are but unformed possibilities. Is that all life is? So where does the third element, the present moment, fit into this scenario? Does the present moment even exist? I don’t know. It’s like that old question ‘how long does a point on a moving wheel touch the road?’ It’s unanswerable unless you set parameters involving two points, in which case you’re not addressing the question. The real question is ‘what is a point?’

And yet somehow we do seem to get something from it, and there are always prospects of some sort as long as we’re still breathing – even if they’re only more dreams. In my darker moments I sometimes feel that I have no prospects left, but I never fully believe it. What else is there to do but let the unformed possibilities take form.