The meaning of my life, and other myths

A preface to the poem We Are All Compost, presented for discussion at the meeting of the Progressive Explorers Group (PEG) at the Glen Iris Uniting Church, Wednesday, 28th March, 2018.

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I have never been tempted to join in the headlong rush to unearth the real me. I have never, even remotely, been interested in meeting the real me, and I suspect that this me, supposedly more real than the me-s I encounter in my daily life, would be a great disappointment. So, when John ***** asked me to join with him as Poet to explore the meaning of life for me you might understand the dilemma I faced; since, if there is no me, then there can't be a meaning of life for me.

I have long taken the position that there are many me-s; each constructed by people I meet, or who know me by rumour or reputation. I am known and understood through their eyes and other senses, and I am a construct of what they perceive and believe they know. I am known in multiple guises,

and the interplay of those guises will be my legacy. I have no problem with that; in fact I rejoice in it. And if you ask me to square my Faith with this multi-dimensional me, I will have to say that of all the perceivers and knowers out there, the one whose construct of me counts the most is He who, for better or worse, I call my God. As Bishop Berkeley asserted, we are all ideas in the Mind of God.

If I am consistent then I will have to admit to not knowing the meaning of life for me; in fact I don't understand the question. I don't believe I was meant to be. I don't believe that I have a destiny, and that there is a map constructed by the Great Cartographer on which is inked a route for my life.  I do accept (and accept in joy) that I leave behind a random forensic trail of scraps and bits and pieces that will, with luck, become part of that great stage of being on which I have been privileged to play, just for a moment or two, a conscious part, and on which I will continue to act, but in other forms.

I have been a most fortunate participant in that great adventure called "life". It's been a ripper ride, despite its ups and downs. That is not going to stop.  For me the question is not "is there life after death?", but "is there death after life?" For my Buddhist friends that too is the ultimate question. However, they seek the end of it all. I, on the other hand, rejoice in the survival of the great life force. That, surely, must mean something.

And so to the poem:


© Karel Reus