Exposure

 

Is being here— alive that is — anything else! At every moment — masked or unmasked, Ukrainian or not, air breathers, secret deniers, perpetual smilers — we are always at risk. The real challenge of being, is to live with the vulnerability of knowing that each moment everything could change. Everything teeters! Impermanence rules. Life evaporates, oh so quickly. Everything, each of us, our children, hopes, satisfactions, fears and delights — all go into an invisible black hole, never to be seen again. Our fate is to surely to not exist as thoroughly as we do exist.

 

Out of that reality — of the pure momentariness of our being — comes the feeling of being exposed. It isn’t just a fear of catching a lethal disease, or of being short of liquid assets, or not having enough to feed your family. It is one of the primary conditions of existing. Each of us has to face the fact, that we came to the party to discover this is it. Soon, it will be over.

 

I don’t know what that means. It is probable that you don’t either. All we know is that there is an inevitability to the trajectory we are on. We have no idea what form of exposure is going to do us in. We just know it will be something. All of us, to the maximum degree, are exposed, all of the time.

 

I’d like to think I can’t live with that awareness. Whereas, the truth is, I do live with it. I keep it dimly tucked-away in the deep recesses of my mind. I don’t let myself often dwell on this fact of my existence. I prefer to believe I haven’t really noticed. I am here for the course — whatever that is? In the meantime, I’ll just pretend I’m immune.

 

Sometimes, I have a breakdown. I feel vulnerable. I get scared. I realize that I live is a house of cards, that could come tumbling down at any moment. For a while, it gets pretty hard to breath, but then it occurs to me, that this isn’t that moment. But for some reason, far beyond my station in Life to know about, I feel more acutely than I would like, just how exposed I am. I’ve wandered into the place of no return.

 

Loneliness accompanies the realization of exposure. No one else can make being exposed any less. Each of us makes our own dead-end canyon. Unknowingly. The only way out is the way in. And, there is only room for one.

 

Today, I might wonder what this sets up, how does this serve the Universe, does it someway make me more human, compassionate, caring? I don’t know. I can’t even conjecture. But none of my reflections change anything. I still feel shaken by my sense of exposure. Somehow, it seems, as if I am meant to live with being exposed. Is that a privilege, or a curse? Or both?

 

All I really know for sure, is that my current state of panic looks like I look today. Sometimes flailing can look creative. I pretend to have something together, look somewhat calm, am semi-coherent, and pass, but the truth is, I am drowning here. Drowning seems to be what I am capable of. I can go down, into the depths, the obscure future, with the best of them.

 

There isn’t any end to this line of thought. The mystery of this existence is really impenetrable.  Conjecture isn’t really a waste of time — we each seem to go down in our own way — it helps me wriggle as I go down. This is my own form of overwhelmed dance. This, and then, my way of responding momentarily to the fact that I, and everything and everybody I know, are so quickly passing.

 

I’d say good-bye, but I’m not really sure I said hello. We just have this moment, when whizzing by each other, when we get to decide whether we are going to pretend we are not drowning, or going to greet each other, as unique snowflakes passing in a quiet snowstorm. Fall well, whatever that means.