| I am older. Not old. But older. My cells are dying faster than they can be replaced. I am older than most Everythingians, and I am closer to my grave than to my mother's womb. None of this gives me wisdom, of course, but I was fortunate to live in an earlier time when humans mattered more than they do today. So with a little hubris, I offer a prayer.
I pray that you know the feel of bread dough under your fingers as it changes from a gooey mass to an elastic mound, firm as a woman's thigh.
I pray that you smell death before you are too old to live.
I pray that you find your fingers stained with mulberries, your shirt covered with pond muck, and your feet callused before the summer's end.
I pray that you see a shooting star, an aurora, an eclipse; I pray you see your shadow under the glow of a fireball.
Do not trust anything from a monitor, from a speaker, or even a book. Trust your nose more than your eyes. The ocean, cilantro, and a lover share the same smell.
I pray you planted a tiny brown seed that turned into a brilliant magenta radish with impossibly green leaves, and that you ate it without rinsing it.
I pray that you feel remorse when killing a wasp, swatting a fly, or smashing a mosquito into a red blob on your bedroom wall.
I pray you get soaked in a rainstorm.
Look out your window. Get outside. You are no more or less mortal than the mayfly that has two sunsets to find a lover.
E2 adds to life. Life happens outside of E2.
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