Swim

Am I a contemplative person? Am I a person that may someday unravel a mystery greater than myself? Or am I a person who is simply trying to fathom the sheer greatness of knowledge, simply trying to understand and grasp at things only just beyond my reach. In this infinitively vast world, I am only one among many others. Perhaps I may be one to do something great, magnificent, substantial. Or maybe I might be one to slip by unnoticed by the world, insignificant, invisible.

Have you ever gazed out of a car window, looking at other cars go by? To realize that with every pair of lights that passed, another life, another existence, passed by also?

I have often stared out the same window when I am angry. Wondering whether the world knew about my pain, my strife, and the many troubles that life decided to bestow upon me. Almost willing the next person that passed to turn my way, to see my tears, and to know that he was not alone in this world of strife.

All I saw was a person among his friends, violently bobbing his head to another mindless number played over the radio, temporarily oblivious to sadness.

I saw a man, smoking, hoping to blow away his troubles with every puff.

I saw another teenager, smiling wistfully.

I saw a flash of young man, driving as fast as he could away from his troubles, knowing that he was driving towards them at the same time.

I saw a mother, ecstatic with joy, enjoying the carefully crafted surprise that awaited her at the end of ride.

Then I saw a girl, thinking frantically. What was on her mind? Was it random facts she had crammed in last minute for an exam? Or was it an ever so complex relationship she had gotten into. Or was it perhaps how she was going to pay for the medical bill of her terminally sick mother. I do not know. I suppose I will never know.

And so hundreds of cars whizzed by, each bearing another life, another purpose, all with a destination not quite like my own.

That was when I realized that I was really just one other person in this world, my troubles unnoticed, insignificant. And if I were to unravel a mystery greater than myself, I would have to be contemplative. And so I asked myself, am I contemplative? Do I swim on the deep end of the pool? To many I may appear to do so, but perhaps I am only swimming on the shallow end of an even deeper pool; one that spirals downwards forever, filled with flashing lights of cars that pass by.