No complaints, really.

When I think about it, life is remarkable. Fantastic. That I actually exist. That I’m a physical being. Conscious. Aware. Not only of myself. But of a planet that I live on. Mother Earth. And presumably of a vast cosmos. The possibility of billions of other planets. Teeming with all sorts of life. If this is all an illusion – well, then give me more illusion. I’m willing to buy it all. As my reality. How did this come to be? I can imagine all sorts of scenarios. Doesn’t necessarily matter. If there’s a grand designer, fine. A god, so to speak. If not, that’s all right, too.  More important, I’m real. Don’t know if I’ll always be. Could be I’m only here for a moment. An instant in time. But that doesn’t make it any less fantastic. I can settle for a momentary glimpse. Though I’d like far more. Don’t know if I have a choice. Obviously, I’m in love with life. Appreciative of what I have. No complaints, really. Even if I have to die. And be no more. –Jim Broede