It was just a small moment in time, and my decision to study outside led me to the revelation. While scouring a calculus problem on the Penn Valley campus, a bird caught my attention. The bird was soaring aimlessly, enjoying the beautiful spring day, when it flew straight into a glass panel and crashed to its untimely death upon the sidewalk. I watched its very last twitch. After a few minutes, people started to walk by and, without noticing, kicked its body around.

This is no rare occurrence, I know, but something about the incident put everything in perspective for a minute. Life is fragile and delicate. One minute the bird was worrying about its next meal. The next minute it was lifeless on the ground. Though my sympathy was large, my ability to change anything about it was nil.

My own mortality was brought to the forefront of my attention. Then the questions started pouring in. Are we to understand the meaning of life and death? Or perhaps it is our own purpose we are trying to understand? How does our short time figure into the big picture? What is the big picture? Is there a greater good? Will we leave a lasting positive influence on the planet, or will we be trampled underfoot by a busy world that is not paying attention?

We all return our flesh back to the Earth and the material will then break down to the basic atoms that compose the rest of the known universe, but is that all there is? I would like to believe that organized religion is right and we will live on in some form, be it heaven or reincarnation. But I just can't imagine that humans are important enough to have the ability to transcend space and time.

No one says a eulogy when an ant is stepped on, yet that ant was given the same gift of life that we humans were given. Why then would my consciousness be considered more valuable than a far nobler creature such as a wolf or an eagle? I have done many evil things in my life, and yet I am supposed to believe that in the cosmic sense, I am greater than these beings which have done no wrong? Are cognitive thought and an opposable thumb all it takes to possess a soul?

Why is it, then, that inside I feel so primitive? It seems as if it would take very little to return me and the whole human race back to spears and fires. It seems to be technology that separates us from our primitive instincts and domesticates our species. How then can I say that I am greater than the planet I live on if it is only technology and society that extracts me from the land? Am I no more than a cog in the everlasting machine of life?

My last story is not mine to write

In the last two weeks there have been reports of food riots in more than a dozen countries. People are so hungry and desperate that they will kill each other for sustenance. I am not judging anyone for I would surely do the same for my family, but since it does not affect me, I keep going and live my life. Perhaps then, it is I that is trampling someone else.

All of my problems and concerns seem petty when put into this perspective. I'm not hungry. I'm not suffering of chronic illness. I have a beautiful daughter. I have a supportive family. I live in one of the more prosperous countries in the world. I have no right to complain, and yet I find myself doing just that on a regular basis.

I can't remember the last time I laughed until I cried, but I can remember the last time I was irate. I sometimes feel as though I cannot quantify love, but can easily disperse hate. This juxtaposition has come to define not only myself, but also most of our species.

Perhaps I need to step back and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Maybe we all do. Maybe that is the real secret of life, to enjoy the time we have to the fullest. We are given such a limited time, it seems foolish to waste any of it on hate and negativity, but we all do.

What if our time is coming much sooner than we think? Are any of us truly ready to die? Have we lived a fulfilling life that we all desire to live? This is a rather morbid thought, but a very real one. How will we face the end? Will we face it with grace and dignity, or writhing and despair?

Or we quite possibly don't even see it coming. The bird saw clear skies ahead, but the window impeded its path and ended its life. I wish for this to never be a metaphor for my own life. But my last story is not mine to write. Mother Nature is kind of a bitch in that regard.

That bird's death was mine to see and mine alone. The universe is trying to tell me something.

Tell us what you think. Write Spectrum at editor@mcckc.edu.

Copyright 2008 Metropolitan Community College