All the meetings and comings and goings in life. What a dance, what an exchange, what a winding and unwinding and rewinding and entwinement and up-in-the-airness. Who could dream up life and connect all the criss-crossing? What kind of computer keeps everything on course and coordinated, no matter how seemingly-fragmented life may be?
The impossible happens all the time. People meet who could never possibly meet. Connections are made and then disconnected and patched up.
What has not happened on Earth and what will happen next?
Life may seem shiftless sometimes and haphazard, yet every note is played beautifully. It is clear that life is about something. Sometimes you find out. Much of the time, life is blurry to you. You tend to focus on the untoward more often than on the beautiful. Life is happening all around you, and nothing is an accident. If nothing is an accident, then everything must be purposeful whether you see the purpose or not.
You take a right turn, and a whole series of events fall into place. The unfoldment of life is unending. Who knows what might have ensued if a left turn had been taken instead of a right, or if no turn had been taken, and you had gone straight ahead or stayed still for another two minutes.
Life in the world cannot be counted on, nor can life be figured out. Well, life in the world can be counted on to be life, yet the details and the circumstances and the perceived outcomes cannot be determined ahead of time and sometimes not even after the fact. Life may seem to be a jumble and yet, as it turns out, reveal a clear path. Or life may seem to be a clear path and turn out to be muddy waters. The best fortune-teller doesn’t know every time what is going to happen in the next minute or where anything will lead.
It is true that you fly blind in life.
And yet you are like the migrating birds in the fall who turn in a direction and take it. There is a certain trust that birds have. There is a lot to be learned from the birds and all living beings that criss-cross with you. There is something to learn from everything. You can even learn things from yourself. Your whole life on Earth is discovery, and discover you do.
Your life is like a book you write. Sometimes it is a picture book. Sometimes it is in color, and sometimes it is black and white, and sometimes you can’t make sense of what you write and what you draw no matter how hard you try.
Yet you keep going. No matter what, you keep going. The pen you write with is Infinite. There is no ending. Life is non-ending.
Through it all, life is a wonderful activity, this story you write even when it seems to be by default. What a plot! Who could dream it? And everyone’s life dances around every other life. Even when there may be mayhem, there are no wrong notes. You are perfect at the play of your life. That has to be so even when it may seem as though you have made mistake after mistake. You just don’t know for a fact what was a mistake and what was not. However you played out your life must have been just right whatever you make of it.
Your life is much like a ball of yarn unwinding. Somehow you pick up a particular ball of yarn, and as you walk, you keep loosening the yarn, unrolling it all along in darkness and in light, bumping into life with direct hits and near misses.
And yet there is love, and you are love, a stored ball of yarn that you roll up and untangle one way or another.
