When our stories end, what will be left behind on the pages we’ve written? Epic adventures? Courageous leaps into the unknown? Compassionate stands for humanity?
How will we have used our voices? To speak for those who go unheard? To educate the ignorant? To inspire the hopeless?
How will we have loved? With unconditional capacities? With clarity from prejudice? With regard for every living being?
And how will we transition into the next world? With grace and gratitude? With consciences cleared? With certainty we’ve done our best?
In truth, these stories we’re all writing won’t really end. They’re merely chapters in the universal narrative of humanity in the infinite book of life. Our contributions, of course, are nonetheless significant because stories tend to repeat themselves. The question then becomes: Is this a story worth repeating again and again?