“Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend. Dust unto Dust and under Dust to lie, sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer – and sans End!”
Is there a point to all this? – probably not. Not in any conventional sense. Not in the sense that there will ever come a time in your life when you can sit back with a smile on your face, a gin and tonic in your hand, and say to yourself, “That’s it. I’ve done it! That’s what I came here for.” Then spend the remainder of your days in a warm fuzz of achievement, and die happy with that same smile on your face, surrounded by the proud looks of admiring loved ones gathered around to see you off. That aint gonna happen.
In the first place, whatever you ‘achieved’ – a great commercial enterprise you built up over the years, a stunning piece of architecture that brought you world-wide acclaim – it will, in the fullness of time, disintegrate, fall apart and be forgotten. Indeed, it will have been falling apart from the moment of its completion. If you’re lucky, it may get a mention in the art history books. The prized certificate, awarded to you and signed in person by the local Mayor, for the biggest marrow at the village fete – that too, in its frame on the sitting room wall, will fade and become illegible with age. Even so, it might outlive you, because you too will fall apart and exit the stage. You’ll be remembered – in a fading-away sort of way – for a generation or two. Beyond that you’ll be little more than an entry in a census form. And even that census form – but there’s no need to go on. Buildings, mountains, civilizations, even the planets and the stars and everything else we can possibly know or conceive of, including our own individual selves, are all in the process of disintegration and becoming dust.
Which, on the face of it, is all pretty depressing. But true, nevertheless – for this is our world. So where is the point?
Well – maybe the first thing to do is stop looking. For a point, that is. Because you’re almost certainly wasting your time. Perhaps even wasting your life. As a child you never looked for a point. Why would you? And many of our happiest times were in our childhoods. It’s only later, when the ‘world’ gets to us – education (so-called), work, etc. – that we start needing ‘points’ and reasons. If you’re seriously religious in a conventional sense, then I suppose you believe the point of your life to be service to God. If so, then hopefully you’re at peace with that belief. But if, like so many people, you don’t understand who or what ‘God’ is or was, that’s not going to do it for you. And you’re left flailing around, confused and maybe even a little despairing.
Sit in a quiet corner and go over the occasions in your life so far that have moved you – not just made you ‘happy’ – but moved you and maybe brought the tears to your eyes. Like Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto; like the look in a loved one’s eyes when they look into yours and tell you they love you; like wondering at and sensing in your heart the grandeur of the Grand Canyon or the vast, impersonal beauty of the Sahara Desert; like hearing the very first cry of your new-born child; like looking from your window and wondering at the ever-changing colours of a sunset; like peering into the heavens on a cloudless night and seeing in the darkness above you those countless billions of twinkling points of light and feeling all around you the something that is beyond the little You but of which, nevertheless, you are part.
Not one of those things has a point. But they stay with you; they touch your soul. They stir in you and release from within you something which is timeless and nameless. They open you out to the miracle of what Is. And that will not fade, nor will it fall apart. So instead of looking for a ‘point’ that doesn’t exist in a future that will never arrive, perhaps we should be still, here and now – be still, and just ‘be’. Use our minds and think only when something needs thinking about. Then leave thinking to one side and just ‘be’. Like we once were, as children. ‘Unless ye become as little children’, a man once said. Misunderstood, as he so often has been down the centuries, he got it right.