I met an old, new friend today; one that I had walked with in lives past, but one whom I have lost contact with since both of us have made and re-made ourselves time and time again. We used to talk about grown-up things in adolescent terms. We used to ruminate on life's meaning through telephone calls, and walks in the park. She's tall, and ginger, with a smile that doesn't sparkle with a naive, irritating optimism, but instead radiates a hard-fought, battled hope for good things to come. Her hair always flows down over hear ears and down her shoulders. Her slender frame seems to wiggle as she walks. Like before, her gait is anything but straightforward.

She helped me today. She helped me understand the impossibility and the hurt. But, she also explained why it is so hard to give up on finding--on discovering--or more accurately, on experiencing something that doesn't fit the definition of an experience.

"Of course you look for it there, why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know, to most people it seems like a thing you do; like an activity everyone loves--like recreation."

"Don't you think that's sad? I'm not one to sermonize on sanctity and holiness. It isn't what I am after. But, what happens when we stop looking for the meaning of life--or at least one of its more important meanings--in the act that leads to its miracle? What happens when we no longer look for miracles in the places and spaces where the one event--or at least one of the two--takes place? Doesn't it make sense that making sense of existence might happen in the place where life is given its seemingly miraculous possibility?"

"I guess. I don't know. You are starting to sound like a True Love Waits campaign."

"I'm just saying. When we stop looking for miracles--for non-experiences--and settle for recreation, there is a natural digression."

"But, it leads nowhere."

"Sure. But it is always more about the economy of desire in which you are participating than anything you ever accomplish."

"It feels impossible."

"It should."

"How do I let go, then?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."