Sometimes I wonder why its called the aftermath. Why After the math. The sense in my brain says its after all the mathematics. After all the calculated choices, carefully weighed and chosen. After all of that, things still go horribly wrong.
How do you live right in a world that was doomed from the start. Sometimes I even wonder if i should try, or even bother for that matter. Burnt, and worn out. Tired, and indifferent. Our choices determine our life. The most valuable lesson I've received in the recent week is life happens. It happens whether you're ready, whether you're prepared, and whether you stand a chance. The opportunities that are available to us, are the same as everybody else. We start, at more or less the same point, and we branch into a set of infinite possibilities.
The Probability of those choices working out, depend on our development as a person. Because life is not a sprint, its a never ending marathon. We rise to greatness, we speed down the road, but we keep ourselves aware that if we fall, we will have a lot to do just to keep in the race. Everybody falls. Not everybody gets back up. Some take a long time but eventually do. Some lie there, get kicked, trip others up, and never move again.
Sometimes I wonder what I am. It seems obvious, but its not. After all, time travels. It moves, it changes, faster than the speed of light, because light travels in time. Time opens possibilities, possibilities we cannot even dream of, because dreams and thought move at the speed of light.
We are creatures of time, a concept so abstract we may never fathom its true nature. We are after all just three dimensional creatures living in a reality of infinite dimensions.
The question is, did any butterfly ever release havoc in a continent half the world away. Nobody will ever really know, or truly understand the mechanics of that possibility. Down to the individual particle, atom, molecule of air that flows. The possibility makes it alright and respectable to be a butterfly, and in turn, to grow and develop our psyche.
Labels: Scooters in the fall