To not wait for life and live still; that is my question

It is enough that we live. Now, we pick ourselves up and think beyond. Why live? Life is ours for the taking. But what is it that gives us the impetus to simply continue on. Its not as if we await the final judgment. If all life was simply about going on till it ends, we might as well end it now. Yet we continue on. On towards what is dark. The not-visible. The unknown. If all life is certain. All life is certainly lost.

The impetus to live, right now, lies in the certainty of existence. Going by the long held belief – something always awaits beyond. Life still, whether down here or somewhere else in a realm different, yet far too close to our own. As lambs we find ourselves shepherded to ‘the infinite’.  We have been made to do this for a while now and in doing so ‘hope’ is introduced to us. The frail one, that which allows us to move forward. To continue on. To drag the weight of our flesh and bones till only the spirit remains. Light, without the burden of existence; a whole lot of nothing. We are at peace. The frail one ceases to be. 

For a while now, we have believed so and nothing came out of it. What was frail grew frailer still. If that is Hope, then, is it not better to just end it? Why should I senselessly drag on with what is so inimical to the very spirit of living? There must be something, certainly, more to life than this certainty of existence. To live as we have, what has it taught so far but fear! Fear of what is to come. We already know it and have known it since our ancestors, when faced with such certainty started digging this ditch with their ancient implements. Now that after the centuries of advancements, our technology has not been able to make this ditch less dark or more spacious, we turn back to them, our lordly fathers and their implements with such reverence that it makes us so very pitiful (and pitiless). 

We have failed Hope. Tore through its fabric and covered its patches with belief to shelter ourselves within. Now, we wait. Wait with faith as our guard. Wait till life dies. Till the timorous flame of the candle inside this ditch goes out and we have our peace. But what is it that I see unfolding above me. As the flame devours the wax of this lone candle, the fabric above knits itself to what it might be. The heated glares of faith cannot find peace for as long as the flame is kindled, there will be those who court dissonance, who look into the eyes of uncertainty and believe in the beginnings of a road without marked destinations.

There will always be those of us who tire of the signboards during their journeys and take the arduous path with the hope to get lost. Already weary of the wary. They cannot be helped till they seek peace. Let them have it and let us be lost and be derided for it. As derision often comes with curiosity. Tell me, where lies Hope? In that tiny dark spot of uncertainty? A black dot in the unencumbered peace? Every approach bolsters the candle. The flames devour the wax quicker and yet the candle grows taller. The fabric shimmers above the ditch. Let life live on waiting for more for our wait has now ended.