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I don’t see the rain anymore.

I feel it and I not blind to it.  I am aware of its existence and I am certainly affected by it, but I no longer see it. 

I don’t see Monday’s either.

Time has disappeared or at least transformed itself into something I don’t recognize anymore.  It took me a while to let go, and there are certainly no guarantees that all won’t end suddenly, but I have come to realize and embrace the fact that there we were meant to live in the present. 

Life is a game, but not the game I was taught to play. 

Life is not a contest.  It is not a test that decides if you are going to heaven or hell.  A measurement of worth capability and destiny to be happy or a life of misery. 

Life is a game of catch.  An ever-ending game of throwing a Frisbee back and forth.  There is absolutely no room to keep score the number of times you and your partner make a catch.  There is no time for competition.  Especially when your partner is an excited little seven-year-old boy. 

The object of the game is simple.  Keep it going.  Just keep it going. 

Throw the Frisbee.  Toss it back and forth, and keep throwing over, and over again.  No winners.  No losers.  Just the monotony of back and forth.  An endless game.  That is precisely what gives life such great meaning.

I have written about this before.  I know I have.  I think I have. 

The impact of being self-aware, of being fully human, fully alive, has been an incredible life changing experience.  A reality that feels right and has been there for me to discover, all along.  It was there behind the curtain.  A curtain of my own making.  I just had to leap into the unknown and dare to peak through the heavy fabric.

I don’t see people anymore.

I now relish the opportunity to speak with complete strangers.  And for absolutely no reason.  It is an opportunity to engage them as fellow human beings, and to throw a mental Frisbee for a few brief moments.

There are so many lonely people in the world.  So many Eleanor Rigby’s. 

They are on every street corner and at every turn.  On every bus.  In our homes, and our tired workplace.

They are often too shy or perhaps self-absorbed to play, but they want to.  They are all secretly waiting for an invitation.  They want to wake up from the isolation.  They yearn for a sudden and unexpected flash of light that breaks them free from the monotony of themselves.

They just need a word. 

Hello. 

How is your day? 

That is all that it takes some time to begin playing the endless game.

We don’t play it often enough.  We are too busy.  We are too sheltered.

We pay a heavy price for it.