Perspectives

I've mentioned this before.  Sometimes when I am a passenger in a vehicle I feel an emotional chill of sorts.  The feeling of being taken away to a different place.  It feels wrong.  But that never happens when I'm driving my own vehicle.

Change, I think, is the same way.  I feel the ground shift beneath me and my mind can't help but rage against those who would disturb what has always been there.  But in the end I am also contributing to the scars of time, all the same.  Sometimes with intent, but oftentimes it is simply a matter of existence.  We change our worlds, and each others' worlds, not because it is our purpose to change, but simply because it is a byproduct of our continued existence.

You feel that you are staying still, but at this moment you are hurtling through the fabric of space and time at a faster rate than you could even imagine.  Yet in my mind's eye I find that somehow I still cling to the idea that I am the center of the universe.

Would there not be more comfort, to be one of a sea of specks twirling about in the eddies of change?  To think that the experience of life is a shared human condition that we flow through?

Which is the feeling that keeps me here, attached to my own sensibilities?  Fear?  Pride?  Selfishness?

Were there times, when I, too, cast off into the stream of life, wholly unafraid of where I would be taken to in the next moment?

I guess there were a few.