Seeking

Today as I shuffled through a large box of old snapshots and other flotsam I came across a small slip of paper containing the following typewritten words. At first I thought they might be mine, especially after a quick Google search turned up nothing. But then something in the deep recesses of my mind whispered, "Jeanette Winterson." So I regoogled, and sure enough: it's the closing paragraph of a column she wrote in March 2004, from Singapore. It's worth sharing.
 

I don't know if this is a dream. Perhaps it is.
A dream of palm trees and noise-headed birds. This dream that I call my life comes with a message
I must learn to understand. It is not in a language
I recognize. Then I remember that life is not a language I recognize, and that learning life is the purpose of the visit. We are all from some other star, pretending rights when we are just seekers. I am glad to be a seeker. Glad to be reminded of how unfamiliar life is. Always.

Me, I cannot help but think the world would be a much better place if we all remembered that in the end each of us is merely a seeker, here for but an instant.

(Pastel by Terri Ford.) 

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