The Echo of My Own Heartbeat

The Echo of My Own Heartbeat

I stopped to think of the things that bring me the greatest joy, and strangely enough, they are the things that are either out of my reach, or shortlived and fragile. 

The stars and planets in the night sky have long fascinated me. My life is full of moments of gazing at seeming constellations, looking for patterns in the night sky because it seemed to be first gazing out at me, comprehending me, in the cool of the night, my favourite part of the day. Is anyone out there? I will never know, they are too far away. 

Exploring the ocean, just under the surface, seeing the beauty of marine life and coral reefs up close, and just beyond them, the receding light hinting at a dark abyss with creatures hiding out of sight but likely there. Something must live in those shadows. Is anything out there? I will never know, they are too far away. 

My most beloved of creatures… the butterfly. To me the most fragile of living things, yet having gone through the most wretched of metamorphosis, not just a total change but an annihilation of self, every cell rearranged to such perfection. Long my dearest friend whose appearance, no matter how fleetingly fast, and brilliantly bright, or not, sparks joy. Look, a butterfly! That which I tried to gather in pockets as a child, helped nurture as I observed them transform, enthralled by their first flutter of wet wings as they took flight from my hand… so fragile, so soft, so beautiful, and a life over so soon. Too soon. Why do all the beautiful things in life die too soon? 

An echo with the fragile flower, where my joy at their complex construction yet simple design, brilliant hue, and fragrant perfume is tempered by the inevitable knowledge that this, too, must wilt, and die. I am enthralled by their beauty yet saddened by their impending death. Why do all the beautiful things in life die too soon? 

Maybe nobody is out there in the dark of space, or the ocean’s depth. There is nothing, or it remains a well hidden secret, an unfathomable mystery. It may well be that someone or something is, and hears me, and is gladdened. Or is that the echo of my own heartbeat, asking to be seen, and heard? And all the beautiful things in life die too soon because if they lived too long we’d never cherish them the way we do now, knowing their life is short. Do they know how much their fragile beauty gladdens me and I love them? Or is that only the echo of my own heartbeat, asking to be cherished and loved despite my mortality and fragility?

Ps. Mid afternoon musings amid thoughts of the natural world and my favs. Resisting slipping into David Attenborough mode, but perhaps it’s time to rewatch all his fabulous docus about the natural world! Starting with the ocean. ❤️

Thanks for reading, 

Pav