Maybe a year ago, I heard a parable (which I recounted in another post) that deals with the nature of endings.
The primary wisdom gained is that a story's root lies in its ending, and that the only certainty is that all of our stories end the same way: in death.
At first, the thought seems a morbid one, and is certainly intended this way within the framing of the story in which I heard it. But there are many sides to the two-sided coin, it turns out. Every inverted angle as the coin flips through the air is a different shade of the story. The story's ending -- the landing of the coin -- can be averted so long as the flipper keeps clasping the coin out of the air and, again, flipping. As long as we keep telling the story, no matter the ending, we keep making our meaning for now. The present narrative is, after all, moment by moment, what we are seeking.
And so long as the story ends, from our perspective, during the telling -- the outcome seems to matter less, now, than it once did.
'Til next time.