Life is but a dream.

Here I am. Living. In a cosmos billions of years old. And suddenly, I arrive. On Planet Earth. In a galaxy of billions of suns and  most likely billions of planets. Many of which could be teeming with intelligent life. Like I said. At the outset. Here I am.  What’s going on?  Is  this mere happenstance?  Or is there rhyme or reason to my existence. In my 81 years. I’ve accumulated some knowledge. Some idea. About this world. About the vastness of the cosmos.  Some of it surmises. Accumulated. By those who have long come and gone. And I’m to join them, too. Perhaps on a journey into oblivion. Makes me wonder. If this is all preposterous make-believe.  And that there never was a real me.  Yes, chalk up my life. And all of creation, for that matter. As a figment of a creator’s fertile and wild imagination. Which means I'm not for real. Time to face the truth. Life is but a dream. --Jim Broede