Forever. In one place or another.

Shared writing. It’s my way of talking out loud. Mainly to myself. But I don’t mind. If I’m overheard. Doesn’t matter. A little like walking naked. Into a strange world. That’s what it must have been like. For the mythical first man. Not knowing. If there was another. Or what to look for. What to make of it all. I’d like. To suddenly appear.  On another planet.  With no one around. Only me. How would I communicate? I could only converse with me. Or a spirit. That I couldn’t see. I’d have to imagine. Why and how I was put here. As an alive and conscious being. I’d have to feel my way. What is this I’m feeling? Hunger. Do I instinctively go to a tree.  Pick some fruit. And satisfy my urge. Are there other urges to come? I can’t help but be fascinated. That is, if I have a fertile imagination. Maybe I’m a zombie. An automaton. Put in this garden. As an experiment. To see what happens. Where all this will lead.  Over the course of time. Maybe I’m a spark. The start of evolution. I’ll have to wait. To become the finished product. Perhaps there’s no beginning. And no end. Life is forever. In one place or another. --Jim Broede