Living His Ache

In the early morning quiet he feels it. An ache wanting satisfaction and fulfillment, a compulsion to deeply engage with existence, and himself. Along with frustration, that he is far from achieving all that he can accomplish and should accomplish. Regardless of how much has been lived and achieved so far. There’s a feeling that he is destined for much more. If he can just figure out what he should be doing.

Notwithstanding all that he has to do each day, he continues to do as much as he can, as much as comes into his life. Doing some combination of what he feels compelled to do or should or has to do. Creating his day, a doing. A lot that he has to do, but also improving this necessary activity with a flare and enhancement. And being mindful that what he does is unique, an expression of his essence. But there’s this ache.

As darkness comes upon the day he asks if it has been satisfying. Has the ache been soothed? Has the day been what it could or should be, embodying his essence? Sometimes yes, sometimes no, and many times a feeling that it was sort of okay.

And then thinking that this ache is okay as it is. It’s his human condition being unequivocally alive. This ache is his impetus to explore the existence available to him. To try new things, or at least revise or adjust what he has been doing. To be as alive as he possibly can.

Or is this a destiny of which he has no influence, and no control? His ache, or any thought or feeling, just is. The result of a force beyond him that cannot be understood, only accepted. Whether there’s an ache or not, makes no difference in the realms of the seemingly endless cosmos.

But then, so be it. Let the ache exist. It’s his life. His destiny. And let it take him wherever it takes him. Is this an ache to be enjoyed, appreciated? Why not?

And life, at least for him, is the ongoing ache to achieve, and accepting that it will always exist, and living his essence.