Oook?

I should have died 9 years ago.

Or maybe to put it more generally – I should not be alive today.

Don’t ask me how I am here. Don’t ask me how I still haven’t succumbed to suicide, or lung cancer, or liver disease. Don’t ask me how I haven’t recouped some of the rotten seeds I have sown. I guess my number is not up yet.

I wait patiently. I have gotten used to waiting. I wait with my eyes wide open.

But in everyday that passes, my wonder increases.

Why am I still here? Why have I not been recalled to the great production line? Why has the Universe, in all her wisdom, not recalled the energy stored within my atoms, to, say, fuel a dying star?

Why has she deigned that I should live, whilst so many more worthy people have died and gone?

Is there a message here that my dumb brain ain’t seeing?

Maybe.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Statistically, I should never have been born, never mind surviving after try to wipe myself out. The mathematicians would probably call us all an “improbability”, never mind just me. There is a bigger picture here……..

“Picture” is the wrong word. It is an oil canvas that stretches for miles and miles – millions and millions and millions of years. I am the product of many, many, many struggles for life and survival. I am the product of innumerable acts of courage and bravery and self-sacrifice. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother probably gave up her food so that my great-great-great-great-great-great infant grandmother would stop her crying. And so on, and so on.

As I spread the canvas within my mind, I look carefully. And a little dot appears. A little tiny speck in that huge canvas. But that little dot appears again and again. To the uninitiated, it might look like a blemish. A slip of the brush. An artist’s mistake.

But I know the artist. And she does not make mistakes.

Upon careful consideration, I give the “blemish” a name.

I call it HOPE.

And even upon evoking its name, the angel lands before me and spreads her wings. And they are huge, and I gaze in wonder as they cover the sky.

The angel bestows me a heartwarming look.

in that moment, I feel like an orangutan.

“Ook?” I question, nervously.

“Ook.” she whispers assuredly with a smile

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements