Passing
What a strange idea.
When combined with students it brings elation. Like those who passed exams and made their offers into universities. When combined with anniversaries it brings nostalgia. Like staying put for seven years in a place that was supposed to be temporary. When combined with transportation systems it evokes fear. Like wait for the train or bus to pass before crossing. When combined with loved ones it brings sadness. Like when someone who has known you your whole life is suddenly no more.
Passing. It’s such a strange word.
Time passes and takes with it beating hearts. Cultural diversity in our concept of death leaves more questions than answers. For some, people pass away. Away to where exactly? For others, people become lost. Can the lost be found? Death evokes notions of the afterlife and in true human fashion we have lots of those versions as well. But does it matter for those left behind in the passing?
In the brief moments when we live in a rotating speck of dust in an incomprehensible vastness, before passing away, we seem to pass through. Through lives intersecting and diverging. Through places and eras. And in those moments of passing through we seem to have an incredible ability to affect. To influence. To change. To shape and altar the lives of others.
An email saved in an inbox evokes a smile. Something about a CV from the Commercial Bank. Situationally appropriate, contextually relevant it has withstood the test of time. Time passed and yet the amusement remained.
A memory frozen in time evokes a calmness. They, who were about to graduate, walking by they, who had just begun. A moment captured by no one. Yet a very definite passing of the baton. Surreal moments when the nature of the very surrealism is evident but unnoticed.
Passing.
The waves caress. A red flag waves. Storm clouds in the distance. Yet, the sun manages to shine all day. Who decides who passes through and who passes by? Do we? Some as part of our inner circle, others as needed-at-certain-times confidants, and still others as a mere acquaintances to be tolerated when eviction from life is not possible or practical. Who decides the outcome of the battle between passing and preserving? Does fortune smile on those who are remembered with memories subject to change or those who are forgotten who carry no such burdens?
Passing, perhaps like footprints in the sand. Visible, poignant, present until waves roll in. At that point, who can really say where they went. But for those who remember, the battle begins to preserve the memories.
