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Nothing lasts forever. Longevity is an illusion we fabricate to deal with the brevity of our existence. We aim for maximum impact upon those around us, and the world at large, our hope being to have a lasting, lingering effect on the memories of anyone living after we’re gone. We may not pass this way again but if we do cross the minds of people, who never knew us, somewhere out in the future, then success is there. But then again, how will we know?

Ego, depending on its girth, dictates our efforts at transcending the confines of our lifespan. It’s like a decorative backsplash to the kitchen sink we keep our idiosyncrasies in. It’s a delicate thing too. Nothing holds it in place. People usually come along, well meaning or not, and tip it over. Like a little wall of blocks it crumbles easily. As soon as we can, we start rebuilding it. The mosaic that results is always uniquely our own. Every incarnation is another attempt at societal acceptance.

Ego is like the wall that Humpty fell off. That wall was the reason for such a great fall. The kings’ men and horses may not have been able to put Dumpty back together but you can bet that they’d have rebuilt that wall if anything had happened to it!

From the first innocent (?) block to the last ‘finally-slid-into-place-with-all-the-guilt-one-can-muster’ capstone, the wall of ego casts its’ long shadow over our character. There is no balancing it. There are only the eggshells strewn about where we must tread to do the work. Step too lightly and things could take a lifetime. Step too callously and you might never get enough in place to resemble a wall. Make a note that ego is also delicate. The click of the tiniest shard of eggshell can upset the stones. But then again we are human. We must ‘stomp about’ sometime.

We’ve been instructed not to judge one another but we still do. For that matter we’ve been given a lot of instructions that we seem to either just glance over or outright ignore. There are no facets of the jewels that we are that we cannot be judged by. We shine, even if all the angles don’t match up. We are ‘bling’. We’re everything from grains of sand stuck to boot heels to grooves on an LP headed out of the solar system, to radio signals bouncing off stars. In between the two extremes, all along that transom of our existence, we shine here and now. We shine and hope our light glints off of something long after we’re gone.