Where did I put it? The moment you turn around it may be gone.
But I need it, so do you. Just which kind is missing on this particular day? How many are there? My thinking of that will ensure at least one is missing. There is physical sustenance of all kinds but broadly, food, water, shelter, clothing. Well, if I haven’t any of those I should soon know about it.
Mental? Too encompassing. Emotional, we usually recognize that one is missing at an appropriate time it is called for and found absent. Or we don’t want it. That’s not missing, that’s us. Choose to cry or not at a suitable time; to join in a mass release of tears, that’s pretty much up to us. We choose to or not, however, when standing there and all around seem weepy and we wonder why, that’s pretty much a Seinfeld moment. It’s missing, but we’re perfectly happy with it.
Spiritual. Sustenance? Who needs it? Ever since childhood, when I was taught the rest of you were misguided if not outright wrong about your beliefs; the place I’m at now feels no one really knows anything about this subject, including me. That we are, some, content, helps me not in remembering where I have put mine. It is somewhere around here I would hope, or carelessly cast out with autumn’s leaves, a day in November near it’s end. I think more likely, in winter’s depth, not all at once, but ebb tide.
I felt a great hope last which sustained and nourished, I thought. If I ever had it, if it had not gone sooner, quite possibly it was then.
