Seeing Not

I.

He continues to guide me, as I latch on to everything he says just as he tells me to drop what he just gave me. All words, all experiences are road signs, not absolute truths. How difficult to break the need for certainty.  Truman woke up to a beautiful day every single morning, greeting his wife and neighbors in the same manner, eliciting the same response. A familiarity that so easily becomes a comfort zone. Predictability is easy.  I’d prefer to operate via a clear life philosophy, and yet the sunset changes colors every single millisecond, leading to the thinking that there is a clear life philosophy that states there is no philosophy. There is just life. 

II.

I come to him. Or maybe he comes to me. If one observes a particle in a vacuum, the particle changes its behavior. The same song keeps playing daily, and sounds differently each time.  Once a leader, now switches to following while gliding along an unwritten continuum, then returning to leading, tracing the ill-defined path of a spiral. Nothing seems to be clear. Only shades of grey. She says she loves him and so she does. When she is done loving him, all aborts. He plays a small part in the equation, if any. Life events can hardly be traced to the beginning. 

He touches me. Or maybe I’ve touched him. He embraces me. Or maybe I have already embraced him. There is no beginning, or end. Continuous movement and dance between every single particle that changes its behavior with every observation and an ounce of attention. Life within is able to flow according to the surroundings. Love creates a flow of one kind. Anything else creates anything else. 

III.

Switching between light and darkness. Seeing her hell and his heaven. Both created by one catalyst. The one catalyst living in everyone’s perception. A catalyst lost on the road, attempting to follow conflicting road signs. A catalyst who is nothing more than a human-in-training.