Everything in life falls into place. Even if the place is not what you want, life settles there. Life finds its place. Threads are tied, and tied neatly. One aspect of life meets another. Even threads from years ago find their rightful place, yet, later again, they may switch places. When events and people in life are no longer in their rightful places, they change, and may turn up in unlikely places. Objects, the same. They go from one treasure chest to another, and your telescope may no longer reach them.
Houses the same. One day it’s your house. The next day someone else lives there. Life is like a song. It is choreographed. The dancers surely do not stay in one place. And, yet, even when you seek adventure, a part of you would like to hold things where they are now. If not hold, at least be able to reach out to at will.
You want things to be as they were in an old photograph. Your parents live in your heart forever, and yet they have absented themselves as if they drifted away from you. Of course, they have not. They are no longer in the fore of the photo, and yet their picture was taken and hung in your heart. Those who have died, as the world speaks of death, cannot be resurrected, for there is no death. The surface of life is not everything. It is nowhere near the whole story of life. It is only the surface.
All the wailing you choose to do does not change the surface, or, if somehow it does, that also was a knot of thread tied. And yet knots do not stay tied forever. Slipknots are part of life.
At the same time, nothing in life is broken. It reconstructs. Nothing is out of place. Whatever you think of it, whatever the world thinks of it, whatever holy texts think of it, it is okay. The cards stand where they stand. They have simply gone in an order that is just right. And if the cards had fallen in a different order, that would have been just fine as well. The orchestration is perfect. How could that be? And yet it is. Unbelievable as it may seem, whatever song is sung, why, that is the one that was supposed to be sung. In some roundabout way, you chose it. You did not cause it, and yet it was a choice. Perhaps you chose it a thousand years ago. You would not choose it now, or, perhaps, you would depending. In any case, a song visits you now.
Life is unpredictable, and yet, even so, an aspect of you may have predicted it. You may have forgotten, and, yet, you may have written it down. “This is the way to go,” you may have thought in the recesses of your mind at a long-forgotten time, or you may not have thought so, and yet you had the thought of it. Thoughts, as you already know, are powerful. They are real. Sometimes they come true in one way or another. Thoughts know not time, you understand. They swim around like fish. They leap. They leap into the air. They dive below the surface. Hallowed be thoughts. And where they land, whose hand catches them, nobody knows. And even when caught and where they are is known, suddenly they may flip, a new configuration gets into place, like one chorus going off stage and another chorus coming on. Is not life in the world like that?
The known certainty is Heaven. So powerful are your thoughts that Heaven is not always known or acknowledged, including powerful thoughts that on certain days and nights could be called mistaken, or could be called into question, or not even thought of at all.