H! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,-- Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
So many plans, so many interests and hobbies and so many things I want to accomplish - with virtually no guarantees except this very minute. It's a sobering thought. My first reaction is, as in my dream, all-out panic, pushing harder on that gas pedal, stay busier, overstuff my schedule to the max. My second reaction, though, is maybe, just maybe, if I can't tell how fast I'm going, I should just release my foot - ever so slightly at a time - off that gas pedal and slow down a bit.
It's true that time rushes on, days and nights seem to come closer and closer, we get older, and we still feel far from accomplishing all we set out to do in life. The only guarantee I can muster is that I promise you there will never be a time I can sit back and say, "OK, I'm ready to go, I've spent enough time with my family, I've made enough quilts, I've seen enough beauty, taken enough photographs, sewn all my fabric, and I've made enough music to satisfy me." Ain't gonna happen, no matter how fast I'm driving or how much anxiety and panic controls the speed. There will always be things left undone, better ways I could have spent my time, and mountains of regret staring me in the face. Reality can be hard to accept. I think it helps, though, to - every once in a while - ease up a little bit on that accelerator - and hope for an occasional dash of moonlight to help you get your bearings.