You believe in words. You believe that they are to be conjugated in different ways. Words assembled this way and that. Perhaps describing great splendor or great pain, justice or injustice. The same words rearranged can describe all manner of things. The words are finite, but the combinations and tonal inflections are infinite.

Look at active life the way you look at words. Life is a continuous rearrangement. It shifts. Words are words. And life is life. Yet there is a tendency to consider life irrevocable, as though the course it takes has only one configuration or one possibility. The same life can be taken many ways. So life is how it is taken more than what it is.

To you, one happenstance in life may seem like an affront. To another, it is unnoticed.

Value life more. And you don't have to take it so much on face value.

When you consider life as a stream, you are not so appalled when it turns this way and that. Maybe it is you who needs to move over to another spot by the stream and look out from a different vantage.

If your life is an interpretation that you make, then no matter what, you can change it. You have overlooked certain junctures. Just like any other terrain, life is not seamless. It has new paragraphs and new chapters. The same event can be written in different words infinitely. A paragraph can be stretched or shortened. It can be emphasized or mentioned in passing. It can be one sentence, or it can be a novel.

All of relative life is passing. But life, like words, is written on something. There is something beneath the words. There is something above and beyond all the words. And there is more to life than meets the eye. There is more to your life than you have credited it.

Let Us say that the paper your life is written on is Light. You write a script, but the background is Light. And you are Light. You who are Light write something on Light. You make marks on it. The marks are surface to the Light and do not change it. Whatever marks are made on it, the Light is unchanged.

And when the marks fade, the Light stays bright.

When you are immersed in a continuing chain of words, when you forget that which your life is written on, when you see the marks and forget about the Light, you are only focusing on part of the story. The whole story cannot be written because it is ongoing. It can only be in process of writing itself.

Words of themselves are symbols of sounds put onto paper. Life of itself is movement across Light. Words try to make permanent that which is not permanent. And the etchings of your life also try to make permanent that which is not. All the manifestations of life are not permanent. They are merely scratches across the Light.

And yet, much of Human life is spent on trying to keep the surface as it is, and that can be called holding on to the past.

All the physical is matter, and the physical matters a lot to you, but it is not the substance of you nor your life. Your life is much more than what happens in it. Your life is much more than any description of it. Descriptions are limited. Your life is not.

Your life cannot be captured. It defies description. Any surmise of your life, any judgment of it, is insufficient, inadequate, uninformed. Your life is not made of spectacle, and yet each life is spectacular, words lined up as never before, words spilling out in an unending stream of consciousness.