What’s it like to be severely depressed, at times wishing for your own demise, and then finding yourself in a horrific accident, which by all accounts should have been fatal? Yet however you just walk away. In one respect, you feel quite fortunate to have survived, particularly when the authorities who arrived at the scene ask where’s the body and ready to call the morgue.

So you survived. Normally, one would ask yourself “why?” and say a prayer of thanks. But given the earlier predisposition, you may actually be asking “why not?”. Why didn’t the crash put an end to the misery? It would have been so unexpected, so spontaneous, so natural. But no. You walk to live another day. And the mere scrape, the only personal evidence of the accident, besides of course the vestiges of what used to be an auto, causes reflection, and in some respects disappointment. Now that’s a fucked up attitude.

Now here you sit and wonder, and postulate, and analyze and imagine. Those that saw the remnants of the vehicle, listening to the tale of a drive off a cliff, falling hundreds of feet, could only comment in unison that it was meant to be and that you are now this living breathing unscarred being who is intended to do something special on earth. You have survived. You have escaped mortality. You are here for a purpose.

For someone who has had the demons, at times wishing for an end, it’s quite the conundrum to now have a new chapter or three to write about what life has to offer. It is confusing yet rewarding, disappointing yet invigorating, and throughout definitely spiritual. Who would script such an ineffable story? Probably someone who creates meaning with a stroke of his pen, or possibly someone with a very sordid sense of humor. Either way, another chapter begins.