A number of lots in our neighborhood are under construction these days.  Several old houses, bought by young families, have been razed to make room for new ones which these families deem more suitable for this day and age.  I welcome the arrival of these young families, as it keeps the neighborhood lively and warm.  Summer will be full of happy noise.
     On the other hand, as I walk past the remnants of these homes and think about how everything they were has now become debris filling a massive dumpster, I feel a sense of loss.  What had been is now forever gone.  Yes, of course time must march on, and yes, of course things change, and yes, of course what is cannot always be, but I cannot help but occasionally look back.  We build our present on our past
     On the other hand, life remains.  It's old, but it's new.  It's here, but it's not.  And like an old house, it's full of holes, holes of surprise, holes of intrigue, holes of mystery, holes of memory, holes of, dare I say, the metaphysical.  It's open, it's transparent.  Even if we do not see it, it continues, it stays before us, it stays within us.  The avenues it makes into our experience never go away completely.  They can't.  Because life is larger than we are, it will always be here, grounding, framing, guiding, explaining what and why we are today.  It's metaphysical.
     And that's the truth that always wins.