Michael Jordan made the number 23 famous. 23 was coined as a token of his greatness.
I’m thinking about my life now that I’m no longer 22. I’m
passing by continual landmarks on the tick-tock of my wrist watch.
And with eternity in view, it becomes difficult to maintain an appearance of cool. Though I’ve learned how to dress, I’m still a mess.
Eternity is difficult to disbelieve. It seems as though everything that is, simply has been. History was before and history is being formed-indifferent with or without me.
I have a longing for a future where there is joy which never ends. This life is only the culmination of my present errands. Drag on. Understand fun. Marry one. Be done.
This spells dumb.
If I’m having my best life now, then I’m worshiping a golden cow.
Perspective, such a relative term, yet sought after as though it lasted forever. Subjective perspectives end. Living only in the now is as finished as it starts. If I’m having my best life now, then I’m worshiping a golden cow.
I do not think that time is my friend. The cosmos and the ethnos, that make up us and keep us in touch, point to something more than stardust.
Who is to guide me to eternity? Will it be a company of fools? Will it be the council of the wise? I wonder if M.J. wanted someone to empathize.