Out of the grief and tempestuousness of the last week I found myself contemplating some of the larger things in life. I suppose it’s only natural when someone loses a person they love to contemplate finality of death, the meaning of one’s own life and perhaps even the questioning of what one is doing/should be doing with their own. All of these things have gone through my head, but what has struck me the most is the wonderment at finding such amazing human beings out there willing to reach out a hand of comfort, though they haven’t even met in person.
I do think, when reading someone’s words, their expressions of existence, a certain bond can be formed should people be interested in doing so – I just never looked for or expected it. As much as I like to tout myself as an optimist the deep truth is that hope, that piece of brightness about people, is often a fragile light fighting to be seen through a snowstorm of thick, clinging ashes. Kind words spoken heart-fully, through text and soft voice, were a balm that touched me so completely I practically wept with gratitude. In the age of the internet we do not have to be isolated from one another, but can instead reach out a digital hand of support.
This device, this technology is something I often felt to be sterile; a poor excuse for human communication amongst people afraid of face to face talk or even the touch of hand upon hand. No longer do I feel that way. Instead it has made the world small for me. It’s unwittingly enabled me to find a wonderful community of people who share a want of communicating genuinely, to talk of ideals and philosophy, and even to share words of support when it seems to be needed. Community, it turns out, can be found anywhere we find ourselves to be and feel somewhat free to be who we are; a place where there is acceptance for that. I had no idea I had found such an entity here.
The falling of ash seems to be slowing, the light less fragile. Perhaps all that was needed was a new set of batteries and a shift in the wind. Thank you.