"RGB", by Alan S. Garrett

"RGB", by Alan S. Garrett

As I gaze out the front window, I notice a small thin cloud reflecting what little light exists as another night draws to a close. The light of the sun will soon replace the star-filled sky, and all that is known of the day will be visible again. The red flashing lights on the communications' tower that serve as both a warning and reminder of their existence to passing aircraft will turn off, and those that live by day will rise as those who live by night will drift to sleep. Like the tides ebb and flow, the darkness and the light can sometimes define our existence.

These dualities of circumstance influence our reality and not a soul goes untouched by varying environmental conditions. We can be as easily burnt by the sun, destroyed by the wind, and replenished by the rain as any plant on this planet. Not a  solitary form of life lives unaffected by environmental conditions, nor remains unaffected by nature‘s wrathful march toward survival. Forces, both understood and yet to be defined, move through our being. It may prove true in the end that what is selected in any one moment has more to do with circumstance than with intent, but such statements take something away from the very definition of what it means to be a human -- "being."

To be means something more than simply existing by chance or circumstance. To be lies somewhere outside the realm of computation, code, and chemistry, even if that is a part of its making. To be means aware, awake, alive.

Change is afoot. There is another shade of color leaking into the sky. As a whippoorwill starts to sing those flashing lights on the communications' tower to sleep, the dawn of a new day approaches. Soon, trees that in this moment only exist as dark shadows set against a changing sky will reveal themselves to be something far more colorful than the shades of the night allow them to reveal.

Revelations are like that, you know. Revelations are built slowly, then arrive quickly toward the end of one existence and the beginning of another at a pace similar to that of a setting or rising sun. Revelations move through us like focused light through a photographer‘s camera lens during the  golden hour, like structure in an architectural golden mean, or a civilization‘s golden age. What is known or thought to be springs forth in abundance, then subsides, leaving behind hints of promise and sometimes utter devastation. Either way, all is revealed in the end, else it slips into the eternal fires of cremation, reduced to ash and sprinkled across the earth as fertilizer to feed the next generation of revelations to come.

Define your existence; don't be defined by it.