Why is that which is rare and perishable, also priceless? Why does an uncommon things’s very perishable-ness, make it all the more valuable? When often its only purpose is to go away? Why is rarity remembered, yet the commonplace, commonly forgotten? Why is that which is most fragile, most eternal? Like today?
How can something that happens once, and once only, be that which remains? Yet that which is always there, somehow not?
One remains in the eternal vision of God. The other remains in the future blindness of man.
One happens in starbursts. The other is just endless talk. Something that almost happens, but doesn’t.
One is a beautiful thing. One is not.
One prepares you for death. One doesn’t.
A rare behavior, in the best sense, is like a rare gem: it’s hard to find. Yet a truly human act is even more genuine because it is truly fleeting. Its essence sublimates into aroma as soon as it is exposed to light. A rare act is, in this sense, a final act. And a final act, of course, is the inspiration, the breathing in, of the end.