Dreams Of Me

photo by Nate Gibson

I wonder if, in the dark night of the sea, the octopus dreams of me.
N. Scott Momaday

If I am brutally honest with myself, one of my worst fears is to have lived on this earth for a few decades and then pass away forgotten, inconsequential, having left behind no legacy of significance whatsoever.  I know it is self-absorbed to feel the need to leave a mark, but my search for purpose and meaning lasting beyond my time provides new momentum for each day.

The forgetting can happen so fast.  Most people know little about their great great grandparents, if they even know their names.  A mere four generations, a century, renders us dust, not just in flesh, but in memory as well.   There may be a yellowed photograph in a box somewhere, perhaps a tattered postcard or letter written in elegant script, but the essence of who this person was is long lost and forgotten.

It will be no different with me and those who come after me.  Whether or not remembered someday by great great grandchildren or becoming part of the dreams of creatures in the depths of the seas, I am just dust here and there is no changing that.

Good thing this is not our only home.   Good thing we are more than mere memory and dreams.  Good thing there is eternity that transcends good works or long memories or legacies left behind.  Good thing we are loved that much.


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