Did I ever wake up to this life? Have any of us?
I think that the very fact we are here is a beautiful mystery, no matter how you might be looking at it all.
The scope of the why of it all can feel like getting hit by a freight train when you finally open your eyes.
Am I awake now?
It was hot, so hot the mirror felt
warm.I washed before the mirror in a daze, my twisted summer sleep still hung about me like sea kelp. What blood was this, and what roses? It could have been the rose of union, the blood of murder, or the rose of beauty bare and the blood of some unspeakable sacrifice or birth. The sign on my body could have been an emblem or a stain, the keys to the kingdom or the mark of Cain. I never knew. I never knew as I washed, and the blood streaked, faded, and finally disappeared, whether I’d purified myself or ruined the blood sign of the passover. We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence…. “Seem like we’re just set down here,” a woman said to me recently, “and don’t nobody know why.”
-Annie Dillard, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek