Cars careen, moon-glow steady.

The bus bounces and creaks.

Multicolor lanterns line main roads and misplaced street lamps light side streets. 

                     Soft glow, orange glare. 

I'm wondering if there is a universal symbol to express selfless affection, a single cosmic action of endearment.  

Time is rolling now, snow balling into...into... that's the question, isn't it.

Family...

My genes battle with patchwork plans for myself.  Unconscious pokes at the conscious mind.

I am sure of nothing, except that it is best to not be sure of anything in life or else the whole game would slide away, the whole farce would melt and transform into something reasonable and sane, like sand into glass.

That's what happens when lightning strikes a beach.  The sand turns into glass.  I pretended to teach that to the nine year olds in my class as they read it out of their textbook. Truth is, I was more excited and awe struck by the idea than they were. 

All of us, we are all children, from birth unto burial, facing the reality of seeing children grow into bodies far too large for their childishness.  

Adulthood is an act.  It is a quasi-entertaining performance and discipline.

My greatest struggle is holding in laughter when my students make funny sounds, and when they believe themselves to be invincible.  

Two very different types of laughter - laughter all the same. 

Mystery attempting the mundane. Mundane attempting mystery.  It will be like this forever, something tells me.  The mundane will never understand the mystery.  The mystery will always coalesce into the mundane, forgetting the whole time, the whole time, that there is nothing mundane, ever...

My only regret here and now is that there is still space reserved in my thoughts for the possibility of regret.  Mistake precedes regret.  There can be no mistakes if the whole damn thing is a mistake. 

That's the beauty of it, the wonder of it, the mystery of it. 

Don't believe them, any of them.  The only thing that is regrettable is fear. It's not real. You create fear when you mistakenly deem it necessary.  It is only temporary, fear.  It is a fiction you craft, and you are infinitely temporary.

                           

                      every moment is infinitely temporary

                                     reality is composed of an infinite number of moments

                                                                                           all infinitely temporary  

And so,  reality is infinitely temporary; temporary and infinite.

An eternal moment. 

When you zoom out far enough, everything that makes sense is nonsense, and when you zoom out further, nonsense is far more nonsensical than it was when you first zoomed.  

Nonsense, silliness,  mistake-

Whoops.

That is what the all is. 

                       The universe, reality, existence, god - whatever. 

It's just a big whoops.

You see, that is really, really great!

There is no intention, no idea, no purpose, no why, no who, no reason.

Nothing of actual importance.

There is just a big whoops. 

A big beautiful puddle of broken glass and spilt milk.

You are the break. You are the spill.