I remember the world
As it existed in February of 2020.
Bustling, redolent, pristine,
And open to all forms of experience.
In this world,
I shook a stranger’s hand upon our introduction.
I sat in a crowded coffee shop and read,
Music overhead, someone coughing in the distance.
I traveled where I liked,
Did not worry about whom I had seen or how recently,
Touched and explored what I wanted.
There is a distinction in philosophy
Between world and reality,
world being the concept in our minds,
Reality being the constancy that persists underneath.
We can never access reality,
But we can more greatly approximate it through spiritual practice.
Worlds are always dying to us,
Such as the world which existed in the US prior to 9/11.
A different, smaller world is that which exists
In any romantic love,
A world of butterflies and promise,
The tingly sensation of wondrous things to be.
There are also the worlds of the family in which we grow up,
Our pet who has now passed,
The first and last schools we attended,
Our national political party and religious denomination,
Our home.
Worlds are always dying to us,
But reality persists.
Jackson Holzberg Buckley 