Contemplation from thoughts of destruction

I'm sitting in a room on the other side of the world. Different continent, different timezone - but the same life, the same me. And I've been reading a book: Barometer Rising by Hugh MacLennan on the Halifax Explosion. And taking in the destruction, confusion, loss, I can't help but be thrown into reflection. Of course I've heard, read, watched stories of many tragedies and I've walked streets where blood was lost, where lives were taken, where families were destroyed. And I've been very aware of these things, felt the magnitude, the history, creeping into me despite the passing of years. But never before have I been so aware of catastrophe upon streets I've walked daily - not a part of some excursion or search for newness and an awareness of the past, but streets lining a place I fondly call home. Reading this novel, I loved the fact that I could so clearly picture the landscape of the artist's words (of course time - and the tragedy that prompted the book have changed things - but the bones of the city are the same). I started the book while sitting on the corner of Springgarden and Queen.

Now, however, that the novel is going into details of catastrophe, these intimate accounts of the streets I love can't help but make my stomach turn. The citadel - so lush in summer, so core to the flow of the city - scattered with dead bodies while hordes of people trapped in the peninsula try to make their way to safety and aide. The North End, where I love walking (despite the rumoured danger) where children play and, with childish attitude and excitement, flood the library - all blasted away to smithereens, hardly more than charred rubble.

I was at the Explosion Monument last year, I happened upon it while exercising. And while it made an impression upon me - the significance was minuscule to that of MacLennan's words.

The thing is, in the novel it's so clear that people were just going about their daily lives when, without warning, forever their existence was changed. For many, existence taken away entirely.

Now, with these thoughts floating through one's head, it's pretty hard not to think about the fact that although it's not reality to me, at any moment my existence could be taken away as well. Which, of course leads to thoughts of significance of life and significance of moments, and the fact that we waste so many: that I waste so many. But then the question arises - what constitutes waste? Is me, while on the other side of the world, sitting alone in an apartment reading a book instead of exploring everything I can a waste? Well, if I hadn't these particular thoughts wouldn't have come, and I don't think they're wasteful.

However, all of this does make me consider what may really be wasteful. I think of the things I stress about, the things I let hurt me, the things I don't do because of fear, the times I let laziness overcome . . .

See, basically I believe this life is all we have. One chance that could be taken away any moment. Yes, there's heaven but I've never really believed in heaven (in a practical way) and anyways I don't see the significance of it in how I choose to live my life. I guess, being the excessive analyzer that I am, I have trouble believing in things I don't have any kind of known or sensed proof of. God, or some kind of supreme being - sure - I've had experiences that I can't deny, and throughout my life have chosen to believe He is the reason. Heaven, despite the belief that my soul couldn't possibly just cease to exist, a little too unknown to base my existence on, and anyways, I think the idea of living a good, or kind, or moral life here and now because of fear of not getting into heave or of getting more 'rewards' when there is rather shallow.

So, despite the belief throughout my life that there's an after-life - heaven/hell - though no one really knows what either of those is, I've chosen to live for this life. Any good I do or don't do reflecting on me and those around me now. Any experience to enrich or detract from who I am daily.

So the point of all of this - well, I guess to say "Charlene, you've forgotten before, let it slide out of your scope, fade in the distance of your horizons and you'll probably forget again until another reminder comes your way . . . but live. Really, truly live, discovering more each day what that means and the variations upon it. Don't let your moments slip by, take in the significance so that whatever moment is your last, even if it's a mundane one, you'll know it was part of a rich, contemplative, and good life. Stop letting fear, uncertainty, and stress bring you down - remember - in the end, they're not what matter. Don't be afraid to let people know you, let people in - sure they'll most likely hurt you at some point, certainly disappoint, but you'll get over it and if you take it in without letting it take you in, you'll be a stronger, better, wiser person because of it. Oh sweet growth. All in all Charlene. Just live. And know what that means. Live."

A quote from the book that inadvertently prompted some of this. "I am a reed, but I am greater than those things that destroy me. I am a thinking reed. My boredom and my defeats are therefore more significant than the excitements and victories of others because I recognize them for what they are. At least they're significant to me."

Yes, I will focus on the significance of my moments, whatever they may be, to me.

Reader . . . ?