The purpose of life.

As I sat across from my husband with a platter of seafood at Portside Restaurant in Charleston, a fishing village north of us, I saw this couple hard at work digging clams for the time it took us to eat our platter. Hard work to move about in the muck with rain gear, trying to remain upright while observing the movement of bubbles at your feet. Even if they didn't fill their bucket with clams, these folks would go home pleased. Later, after they opened  a can of their favorite beer and steamed their clams, they would have feasted the end of another year with friends and family.

Their supper will be reproduced in many parts of the world, people eating what they gathered, or grew, or bought at the local store, food that their parents had used to celebrate these events,  to say goodbye to another year in a memorable way. While our imagination colors our memories with rosy colors, and warms our dreams with candied stories, these simple tasks, gathering food, surviving storms, staying warm, celebrating with rituals, these are the memories our children inherit to share with their children, and grandchildren.

Our purpose is to stay alive, as best we can.

In this way,  paraphrasing Jodorowsky, we create the soul.