I am the cheese in a cheese sandwich,
in a sandwich shop. Sandwiched I am, in the tempting yet macabre house of time.
One day I will be eaten, digested - and gone.
And there will be another cheese in another cheese sandwich here on this shelf where I lie so neatly now between two sheets of buttered white bread -
another sandwich, so similar that: who will remember me?
Even if I do something somehow extraordinary,
like jump about until my sandwich becomes a jumping sandwich,
or sing until my sandwich become a singing sandwich -
or do something unimaginably dark,
darker than the darkest rye - so that my sandwich becomes the sandwich upon which someone chokes and dies -
still, my extraordinary actions might be remembered,
or my dark ones, but I myself, and all I have seen and felt...
it will be as if I never was -
even though lying here now between these buttered sheets on this sandwich shop shelf everything seems so real... One day, in fact probably today (because this is a popular little sandwich shop), everything will be just as it once was, before I was born -
when there was no me yet.
There was once a time when I wasn´t.
And there will soon be a time when, once again, I will not be.
Yet for the time being, here I am, in the middle -
the cheese in an existential sandwich,
like a burger in the buns of time.
Still, I am not bitter. I am soft and sweet, like camembert or brie - and grateful. I feel grateful to be existing at all. It feels so unlikely. Existence feels unlikely! It feels miraculous. Once I wasn´t, and soon I won´t be - yet here I am!
It´s a miracle I exist at all!
Mark the Mystic Activist, Catalunya, Spring 2023 www.markthemysticactivist.com