Today is my birthday. Or so it was yesterday, depending on the time zone.
And, as such, a fitting date to ponder the meaning of birth, life, death and whatever matters of equal import spring to mind.
Why are we born? Where are we going? Does our existence here have any real purpose other than to blindly perpetuate the species? Will we ever know what that purpose might be or must it reside forever beyond the grave, a destiny still hidden from us all and much too uncertain for any proper comfort to be derived or any clarity of thought to operate?
So many questions. And, as always, so very few answers in imminent prospect.
In today’s world, people continue to be born, live and die in all manner of ways. For most of us, the rationale behind such behaviour may simply be that of long-established custom and nothing else. And overall responsibility can safely be accredited to whichever deity commands pride of place in the belief system of the observer. To say it’s all a bit subjective, therefore, must rate as very much an understatement.
Is there then a need for a more objective and far less self-serving attitude to reconcile so many contending interpretations of what may or may not be true?
Birthdays are natural to all of us. Rebirth, however, is something else.