A Precious Human Life

"Every day, think as you wake up:
Today I am fortunate
to have woken up.
I am alive,
I have a precious human life.
I am not going to waste it.
I am going to use
all my energies to develop myself,
to expland my heart out to others,
to achieve enlightenment for
the benefit of all beings.
I am going to have
kind thoughts towards others.
I am not going to get angry,
or think badly about others.
I am going to benefit others
as much as I can."

~His Holiness the XIVth Dalai Lama

I was going to begin this post "I've been feeling uninspired lately," but that isn't the case at all. In truth, I think about writing in every moment of every day, and yet, something's been stopping me from blogging lately. There's no reason or rhyme to it. It's become this idea that taunts me, haunts me, hovers around me begging me to jump in. And I stand on the edge afraid.

What is it that I fear? Admitting to myself that I'm not living from the depths of me, that I'm not embracing the ideas of the quote above though I face it each morning on my wall, that I'm not who you think I am or who I want to be? The truth is, I'm perfectly content until I begin writing and discover I'm not. Writing has always been both a blessing and a curse.

It's not that I'm unhappy. What I'm feeling isn't sadness or depression, it's the sense that I'm only skimming the surface of life when my soul wants so desperately to plummet into the fullness of the world. I feel like I'm floating, drifting. I don't know exactly what I want, and what's even more frustrating than being directionless, is not knowing where to begin looking for some kind of direction, some kind of meaning. I don't know where to start.

And then I am reminded, "today I am fortunate to have woken up," and I am, and I know that. Maybe that's as good a place as any to start. Today is a brand new day, as tomorrow will be, and the day after that. Each one promises the prospect of a new beginning. Each one promises a chance to begin it all again. Perhaps my yesterdays have been filled with aimlessness, but my tomorrows hold up their cupped hands before me and invite me to crawl in. I will be safe in their custody. I will remember to breathe. I will cry and laugh and sing. I will suddenly find answers to questions that once seemed dauntingly futile to ask. I will have that epiphany, that moment of "ahh yes, this is what I'm supposed to do, this is who I'm supposed to be." And I will realize, finally, that even if that moment never arrives, I'll still be okay.

Because when it comes down to it, "I am alive. I have a precious human life. I am not going to waste it." I will not waste my days dwelling on yesterdays and hoping for tomorrows. My one life is far too precious for that. As is yours. As are all.

Maybe I need to drift for a while before I find my course. Maybe I just need to be content with that. Maybe life works just as this entry has, twisting and turning and ending up somewhere completely different than where it began. This is the blessing side of the bittersweet act of writing, for it is here that I feel better. For it is here that I am reborn. Today I am fortunate to have woken up.