We do not realise that we are children of eternity. If we did

Host: The morning was drenched in fog, rolling over the hills like whispers of forgotten dreams. The sunlight had not yet broken, but the sky glowed faintly — that pale silver that comes just before dawn, when the world still hesitates between night and day.
A train waited at an empty station, its metal frame gleaming with the dew of the hour. On the bench sat Jack, a black coat around his shoulders, his hands folded, eyes lost in the mist.
Jeeny stood beside him, her hair tied back, a small notebook in her hands. She was reading something — a quote, perhaps — her lips moving softly, as if reciting a prayer.

Host: The station clock ticked, its sound sharp, rhythmic, like a heartbeat against the silence.

Jeeny: “Joseph Barber Lightfoot once said — ‘We do not realise that we are children of eternity. If we did, then success would be no success, and failure would be no failure to us.’”

Jack: “Children of eternity, huh?” — he leaned back, exhaling a thin stream of breath into the cold air — “Sounds poetic. But also kind of useless in the real world, don’t you think?”

Host: The fog shifted, swirling around his words, as though even the air was reluctant to let them go.

Jeeny: “You think eternity is useless?”

Jack: “No. I think believing in it is a luxury. People like to talk about souls, timelessness, and destiny — but when the rent’s due, or your career is on the line, eternity doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it doesn’t. But maybe that’s the problem — we’re so consumed by clocks and deadlines, by measuring ourselves through wins and losses, that we’ve forgotten what it means to just exist.”

Jack: “Existence isn’t enough. You can’t just float through life saying, ‘I’m eternal, so nothing matters.’ That’s a cop-out, Jeeny. Success and failure define us — they’re how we grow.”

Host: The train horn echoed from far away — a distant sound, melancholic, like a memory returning from another life. The light began to bleed into the fog, painting it with a gentle gold.

Jeeny: “Or maybe success and failure only define us because we’ve forgotten that they’re temporary. Everything we chase — titles, money, praise — they all fade. But what if we remembered we were part of something endless? Wouldn’t that change how we measure our worth?”

Jack: “Endless? You mean like heaven? Or some grand cosmic recycling where we all just keep spinning forever?”

Jeeny: “Call it whatever you want. Eternity isn’t a place — it’s a perspective. It’s the awareness that every moment is part of something bigger than this train station, or your career, or even your death.”

Host: Jack’s eyes narrowed, a small crease forming between his brows. He rubbed his hands, as though warming them against something invisible.

Jack: “You sound like those monks who tell you to detach from everything. But detachment is just another word for apathy. If nothing’s a failure, then nothing’s a victory either. That’s not peace — that’s emptiness.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s freedom. Freedom from the illusion that our worth depends on how we compare to others. Think about it — when you were a kid, before the world started grading you, did you ever worry about being a success?”

Jack: “Sure. I wanted to win at everything. Even then.”

Jeeny: “But why?”

Jack: “Because I hated losing.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Even as children, we’re taught to fear failure. But what if that’s because no one ever told us we were already enough — already part of eternity. Lightfoot’s right: if we really knew that, we wouldn’t be chained by the idea of winning or losing.”

Host: The train arrived, its lights cutting through the mist like a blade of fire. Jack watched it approach, his reflection shimmering in the windows — a man both real and ghostly, caught between worlds.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve made peace with failure, but I don’t buy it. You still try, don’t you? You still want to be someone.”

Jeeny: “Of course I do. But not because I’m afraid to fail — because I love to live. There’s a difference. When you understand you’re part of something eternal, you stop chasing perfection and start experiencing life.”

Jack: “That sounds nice on paper. But in reality, people judge, measure, compete. Even the Buddha had to sit under a tree until he ‘proved’ his enlightenment. We can’t escape the need to succeed.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But we can redefine what it means. The Buddha didn’t escape the world — he saw through it. Eternity isn’t about denying success or failure; it’s about seeing them for what they are — temporary ripples in an endless sea.”

Host: A silence fell. The train doors opened with a soft hiss, but neither of them moved. Steam rose around their feet, curling like incense in a temple.

Jack: “You really think people can live that way? Without striving, without proving themselves?”

Jeeny: “I think people can live with peace, even while they strive. It’s not about not caring — it’s about knowing that even when you lose, you’re still whole. Eternity doesn’t erase effort, Jack — it redeems it.”

Jack: “You make it sound so… easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not easy. It’s just true. Look at history — the greatest minds failed more than they succeeded. Van Gogh died unknown, Tesla died broke, but their works lived on, untouched by the world’s verdict. They were children of eternity, even if they didn’t know it.”

Host: The fog had thinned now. A faint ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, falling across Jack’s face. For a moment, his eyes caught the light — not with certainty, but with wonder.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we are children of eternity. Maybe that’s why we keep reaching, even when everything ends. Because somewhere inside, we already know it doesn’t.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the beautiful paradox — we’re mortal, but we feel infinite. Every breath is a reminder of both.”

Host: The train doors began to close, and Jack finally stood, his coat brushing against her knee as he moved. He paused, looking at her — the softness of her expression, the stillness in her eyes.

Jack: “You coming?”

Jeeny: “No. Not yet. I think I’ll wait for the next one.”

Jack: “Still chasing eternity, huh?”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Just listening to it.”

Host: The train departed, rolling into the light, its sound fading into the distance. Jeeny watched, her reflection in the window slowly dissolving into the morning sun.

Host: The fog lifted completely now. The station was silent, but not empty. The world seemed to pause, just for an instant — as if eternity itself had taken a breath, watching its children remember what they had always been.